MSARONl 
BALLADS 

T.  A.DALY 


McARONI  BALLADS 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

CARMINA 

CANZONI 

MADRIGALI 

SONGS  OF  WEDLOCK 


•• 


Rubicam  Road 


Page  81 


McARONI  BALLADS 

AND 

OTHER  VERSES 


BY 

T.  A.  DALY 


Frontispiece  by 
HERBERT  PU LUNGER 


NEW  YORK 

HARCOURT,  BRACE  AND  HOWE 

1919 


COPYRIGHT,    IQIQ,    BY 
HARCOURT,    BRACE  AND   HOWE,   INC. 


THE    QUINN    ft    BODEN    COMPANY 
RAHWAV     N     J 


THE  MEMORY  OF 
JOYCE  KILMER 


ARGUMENT 

7\/f  y  title  has  a  foreign  look; 
JLrJ.    The  sort  of  Latin  label 
One  might  expect  upon  a  book 

Devoted  to  the  table. 
Yet  "  Macaroni  "  *s  come  to  be 

A  word  of  many  meanings, 
(One  Noah  Webster,  LL.D., 

Explains  its  Yankee  leanings) 
And  some  of  these,  I  think,  will  fit 

The  facts  and  personages 
My  puny  pipings  cause  to  Hit 

Among  these  printed  pages. 

If,  still,  you  deem  my  plain  intent 
Too  delicately  subtle, 

I've  yet  another  argument 
To  offer  in  rebuttal: 

Since  these  my  verses  scarce  may  claim- 
Much  share  of  fame  or  boodle, 

But  merely  aim  to  laud  the  name 
Of  Mr.  Yankee  Doodle, 

May  I — whose  Pegasus,  mayhap, 
Like  his,  is  but  a  pony — 

Not  stick  a  feather  in  my  cap* 

And  call  it  MCARONI? 


CONTENTS 


FOR  GOODNESS'  SAK'! 3 

THE   SECOND    COMING 5 

DA    FINE    ITALIAN     HAND 7 

FLAG    O*    MY    LAND IO 

DA  FLUTE  EEN  SPREENG 12 

ON  A    MARCH    MORNING 14 

MARCHA-MONTH               .          .          .          .          .          .  1$ 

A  "  TITANIC  "  MOTHER           ,;         .          .          .  17 

SO  GLAD  FOR  SPREENG 19 

GOOD    FRIDAY — IQI?      - 21 

APRIL        .          .          .          ..,..;,".          .  23 

RAVIOLI    .           .          .                     .          .          .   '       .          .  24 

THE    CONSTANT    POET     .          .        , .'        ^-        *          .  26 

G.    SCALABRARTA — FINANCIER       ,          .          .          .  28 

BALLADE  OF  THE  TEMPTING  BOOK      .       .       .  3! 

DA  WHEESTLIN'  BARBER 33 

A  LITTLE  KERRY  SONG 36 

DA  VERRA  LEETLA  BABY 38 

A  VALENTINE 4O 

LEETLA  GIUSEPPINA 42 

BALLADE  OF  THE   STRANGE   WORD         ...  44 

CHERRY    PIE 46 

EEN   COURT 47 

THE    MARINE 5O 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

DA  JOB  DAT  RAN  AWAY            .          .          ...  53 

THE  MAN  AT  THE  TURNPIKE  BAR         .          •          *  55 

AT  A  HALL-ROOM  WINDOW    .          .          .'•"."       .  57 

TWO  DAYS 59 

DA  FARMER       .          >          .          •          *          *'•        «          •  6l 

TO  A  LITTLE  GIRL  OF  FIVE 63 

THE  SEA  EAGLES  OF  COLUMBIA    ....  64 

DA  QUEENA  BEE      .          .          .-         ....  66 

WHAT    THE   FARMER    SAW 69 

THE  SIX-O'CLOCK  RUSH        :   .          .          .          .          •  71 

THE  CHILDLESS  WOMAN         .     ;.-    .          ,           „          .  73 

IN  A  SLEEPER,  IO  A.M.   .          .          .         v         .,          .  75 

DA   WISA   CHILD      „          ...       "i  ,         Y         *          .  77 

PITY   THE   POOR    POET    .          .     .    »         -.,        •          «  79 

TO  IGNACE  PADEREWSKI         .         .    f    »         0    -    ..  80 

RUBICAM  ROAD         .          .          .          .          ...  8l 

TO   A   BEREAVED    MOTHER       ...          .          .  84 

FOR    OLD    LOVERS    „     '    .          ...          .          .          .  86 

THE    LOVE-SONG     .          .'       .      '.-      .          *          .  87 

WHEN  THE  MISSUS  COOKS    .         V         .        -.          .  QO 

RICHES     .          .          .          ....          .          .          .  92 

SINGLE   PHILOSOPHY      .          •     •    »          •      •  '  •          •  93 

THE  ACE  TO  HIS  QUEEN        *          ,         ,         .          .  95 

THE  CAGED  BIRD     .          .          .      ,    .     •<    .          t         .  97 

CIDER      ...          .          .          .          .          .          .          .  99 

WISHES  .        ...         .          *          .          .          .          .101 

IN  PRAISE  OF  SCRAPPLE    ...    .    .  1 03 

PLEASURES  OF  THE  POOR   ....   ,    .    .  IO6 

THE  FAT  MAN  YEARNS  .    -..'..    .    .  IO8 

DA  LEETLA  DOCTOR    .    .'    •    •    •    .HO 


CONTENTS 


A  SONG  FOR  NOVEMBER 112 

TO  A  SANDWICHMAN 113 

FIRESIDE  DREAMS 114 

SINCE  PATSY  SHEA'S  A  SCOUT     .       .       .       .116 

FORTISSIMO    .       .       .    '   .       .        .       .       .IIQ 

APPLYING  THE  SERMON       ...       .       .       .     121 

ALONG  THE  WISSAHICKON  .       .     •  .       .       .     124 
DA  POST  A  CARD  FROM  NAPOLI     .       .       .       .     126 

SONG  OF  THE  SCUTTLE  .       .       .       .       .       .     128 

IN  FRANCE     ........     131 

THE  TREASURE  BOX      .       .       .       .       .        .134 

DA  VOICE  DA  GERMANS  MEESSED   .          .          .          .136 

ROSA'S  CURIOSITY 140 

IN  PRAISE  OF  ST.  STEPHEN         ....     142 

DA  PUP  EEN  DA  SNOW    .          .          ,  -m     .          .          .  144 

TO    AN    AUTHOR 147 

ONE  OF   US       .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .  148 

TO  A  RICH   MAN 149 


McARONI  BALLADS 


FOR  GOODNESS'  SAK'I 

"TnvOR  goodness'  sak'!  "     She  say  to  me- 

JL      Dees  girl,  dees  Angela  Mari' 
Dat  soon  my  wife  ees  gona  be — 
"  Bayfore  I  go  for  leeve  weeth  you, 
You  gotta  habit,  you  mus'  br'ak; 
Dees  swearin'  talk  eet  weell  not  do, 
For  goodness*  sak' !  " 

"  For  goodness*  sak' !  eet's  mak'  me  sad," 
She  say,  "  for  hear  you  speak  so  bad." 
An*  I  say,  "  Wai,  w'en  I  am  mad, 
I  feel  eef  I  no  swear  a  few 

Dat  som'theeng  sure  ees  gotta  br'ak; 
So  w'at  da  deuce  I  gona  do, 
For  goodness'  sak'?  " 

"  '  For  goodness*  sak'!  *  dat's  joosta  w'at 
You  oughta  say  w'en  you  are  hot!" 
She  say;  "  So  promise  you  weell  not 
Mak'  swear  words  now  for  seexa  week, 
Or  you  can  tak'  your  presents  back! 
Here's  strongest  langwadge  you  must 

speak: 
'  For  goodness'  sak' ! ' 

3 


McARONI   BALLADS 

For  goodness*  sak'  I'm  tonga-tied, 
So  dat  she  weell  be  satisfied, 
Dees  girl  dat  gona  be  my  bride ; 

But  you,  you  guys  dat  know  me — Wai! 

I  hope  dat  you  weell  not  meestak* 
What  I  am  theenkin'  w'en  I  yal: 
"  For  goodness'  sak' !  " 


McARONI    BALLADS 


THE  SECOND  COMING 

(A  Lincoln's  Birthday  fancy,  1917) 

CLUTCHING  their  bosomed  wealth,  they 
made  their  cry : 
"  Oh,  that  our  Lincoln's  strong,  unbending 

frame 
Might  loom  against  this  wild,  war-crimsoned 

sky!"  .  .  . 
And  Lincoln  came. 

He  was  as  when  he  lived,  the  quaint  and  queer 
Rough  casket  of  the  living  heart  of  gold. 

"And    these,"    he    thought,    "save    they    no 

longer  sneer, 
Are  as  of  old." 

But  they,  with  lifted  faces  all  aflame, 

Beheld    their   hopes    new    blossoming    and 
cried : 

"  We  have  no  leaders  worthy  of  the  name; 
Be  thou  our  guide !  " 


McARONI   BALLADS 


He  bent  on  them  his  cryptic  smile  once  more; 

He  gave  them  timely  truth  in  rough-hewn 

jests 
And  laid  accusing  finger  on  the  sore 

In  their  own  breasts. 

And  all  his  words  Pride's  ancient  armor  found, 
And  all  his  words  rebuilt  dismantled  years, 

For  lo!  the  faces  circling  him  around 
Grew  dark  with  sneers. 


McARONI    BALLADS 


DA  FINE  ITALIAN  HAND 

JOE  GESSAPALENA  can't  write  hees  own 
name, 

But  he  can  write  othra  theengs,  justa  da  same ; 
An*  mebbe  you,  too, 
Bayfore  he  ees  through, 

Weell  read  w'at  he's  wrote  an*  be  glad  dat  he 
came. 

You  see,  eet  ees  verra  good  theeng  for  dees 

Joe 

He  com'  to  dees  countra  so  long  time  ago, 
Bayfore  dey  baygeen  dese  new  eemigrant  laws 
Dat  mak'  you  know  readin'  an'  writin',  bay- 
cause 

Da  'Merican  story  he's  makin'  to-day 
Ees  justa  wrote  down  een  a  deefferent  way. 
Eh?     Pleassa,  my  frand,  I'll  esplain,  eef  you 

wait! 

You  evva  been  up  een  Conne'tica  State 
An'  see  dose  ole  farms  dat's  so  full  weetha 
stone 


8  McARONI   BALLADS 

Dat  mos'  evra  farmer  ees  leavin'  alone, 
Baycause  dey  ain't  fit  for  nobody  to  own? 
Wai,  Joe  he  ees  buy  wan  o'  dem  lasta  year 
An'  now  he  ees  doin'  som'  writin'  up  dere; 
An'    even    hees    firsta    year's    work    was    so 

good 

He  sure  ees  da  talk  for  da  whole  neighbor 
hood  ! 
You  no  ondrastand?     O!  my  frand,  you  are 

slow ! 
Wai,  he  weell  esplain  eet.     So  speaka  dees 

Joe: 

"  I  write  weeth  no  pen,  but  I  taka  my  hoe 
An*  I  use  eet  so  wal  weeth  my  stronga  right 

han' 

Dat  I  write,  een  Italian,  all  over  dees  Ian' 
All  da  treecks  I  have  learned,  all  da  theengs 

dat  I  know 
Dat  weell  charma  da  plants  an'  jus'  maka  dem 

grow! 
But — O !  here  now  ees  com'  da  mos'  wondra- 

ful  theeng! — 
Dough  I  write  on  my  fields  een  Italian  een 

spreeng, 
You  can  read,  een  da  summer,  all  over  my  Ian* 


McARONI    BALLADS 


Soocha    message    da    harvest    speaks,    plain 

'Merican, 
Even  dose  dat  mak'  laws  mebbe  might  ondra- 

stan' !  " 

Joe  Gessapalena  can't  write  hees  own  name, 
But  he  can  write  othra  theengs,  justa  da  same ; 

An'  mebbe  you,  too, 

Bayfore  he  ees  through, 

Weell  read  w'at  he's  wrote  an*  be  glad  dat  he 
came. 


io  McARONI   BALLADS 


FLAG  O'  MY  LAND 

UP  to  the  breeze  of  the  morning  I  fling 
you, 
Blending  your  folds  with  the  dawn  in  the 

sky; 
There  let  the  people  behold  you,  and  bring 

you 

Love  and  devotion  that  never  shall  die. 
Proudly,  agaze  at  your  glory,  I  stand, 
Flag  o'  my  land!  flag  o'  my  land! 

Standard  most  glorious!  banner  of  beauty! 
Whither  you  beckon  me  there  will  I  go, 
Only  to  you,  after  God,  is  my  duty; 
Unto  no  other  allegiance  I  owe. 

Heart  of  me,  soul  of  me,  yours  to  com 
mand, 
Flag  o'  my  land!  flag  o'  my  land! 

Pine  to  palmetto  and  ocean  to  ocean, 

Though  of  strange  nations  we  get  our  in 
crease, 

Here  are  your  worshipers  one  in  devotion, 
Whether  the  bugles  blow  battle  or  peace. 


McARONI    BALLADS  11 

Take  us  and  make  us  your  patriot  band, 
Flag  o'  my  land!  flag  o'  my  land! 

Now  to  the  breeze  of  the  morning  I  give  you 

Ah !  but  the  days  when  the  staff  will  be  bare  ! 

Teach  us  to  see  you  and  love  you  and  live  you 

When  the  light  fades  and  your  folds  are  not 

there. 
Dwell   in   the  hearts   that   are   yours   to 

command, 
Flag  o'  my  land!  flag  o'  my  land! 


12  McARONI    BALLADS 


DA  FLUTE  EEN  SPREENG 

DERE  was  a  time  w'en  I  could  shoot 
Profess'  Agrandinallo, 
For  dat  he  played  upon  da  flute 
All  nighta  long  hees  "  toot!  toot!  toot!  " 
An'  made  a  seeckness  een  my  head 
W'en  I  was  layin'  een  my  bed. 
O!  manny,  manny  time  I  swore 
W'en  he  was  livin*  nexta  door — 
Dat  crazy  music-fallow! 

Wan  day  een  March,  wan  happy  day, 

Profess'  Agrandinallo 
He  took  hees  theengs  an*  moved  away 
Where  I  no  more  could  hear  heem  play. 
Ah!  den  da  nights  was  full  with  sleep, 
So  beautiful,  so  long  an5  deep! 
An'  I  was  glad  dat  nevva  more 
I  gona  hear  heem  nexta  door — 

Dat  crazy  music-fallow ! 


McARONI    BALLADS  13 

But,  ah !  my  frand,  I  deed  not  feel 
How  mooch,  how  mooch  I  meesed  heem, 
How  dear  hees  music  was,  onteell 
Las'  night  beside  my  weendow-seell, 
From  som'where  far  off  down  da  street, 
I  heard  hees  flute  so  soft  an'  sweet! 
O!  my,  eet  made  my  heart  so  glad 
Dat  was  so  lonely  an'  so  sad 
I  justa  coulda  keesed  heem! 


14  McARONI    BALLADS 


ON  A  MARCH  MORNING 

THERE'S  a  tulip  in  this  air 
Last  night  never  knew; 
Strange,  faint  perfume's  everywhere. 

'Round  the  dawn's  gates,  too, 
Cloudy  curtains  stir,  and  lo! 

Rosy-flushed  are  they, 
Trembling  with  the  joy  to  know 
God  has  passed  this  way. 


McARONI    BALLADS  15 


MARCHA-MONTH 

HERE  ees  com'  da  time  of  year 
Best  of  all! 
Lika  trumpet  een  my  ear 

Ees  eets  call. 
Lika  trumpet  far  away 
First  I  hear  eet  yestaday 

Wen  a  weend  dat's  sailed  da  sea 
Com'  along  dees  street  to  me 
And  eet  touch  my  hair  an'  say : 
"I  am  here!" 

Now  ees  com*  da  time  of  year 

I  should  seeng; 
Far  Italian  scenes  so  near 

Eet  can  breeng. 

Home,  een  March-month,  I  could  go 
Where  ees  steell  da  mountain  snow 
Findin'  on  da  sunny  side 
Of  som'  feeg-tree,  where  dey  hide, 
Violets  dat  cry :  "  Hallo ! 

We  are  here!" 


16  McARONI    BALLADS 

Here  ees  com'  dat  time  of  year; 

But  no  note 
Of  da  song  dat  once  was  dear 

Feells  my  throat. 
Ah !  eef  only  now,  to-day, 
She  dat's  verra  far  away — 
Farther  dan  Italian  shore — 
Comin'  weeth  da  Spreeng  once  more, 
Joost  could  touch  my  hand  an*  say: 

"I  am  here!" 


McARONI    BALLADS  17 


A  TITANIC  MOTHER 


OCH !  'tis  come  again,  April,  the  same  fine 
air 

Breathin'  in  from  the  sea — 
An*  the  lad  inunder  it  still,  somewhere, 

That  was  born  o'  me — 

Let  them  wag  their  heads,  for  'tis  little  I  care 
What  they  do  be  sayin',  that  think  me  quare — 
An*  why  wouldn't  I  be? 

O!  my  grief  that  my  flesh  that  was  his  flesh, 

too, 

Should  withhold  me  from  him! 
But  I  know  what  my  soul,  when  it's  free,  will 

do. 

It  will  dive  an*  swim 
To   the   cold   sea-caves   where    I'll   find    my 

Hugh- 

Where  the  quality  lies  all  one  with  the  crew — 
And  I'll  comfort  him. 


i8  McARONI    BALLADS 

Sure,    I'd    know    him    twenty    times    twelve 
months  dead, 

For  he's  bone  o'  my  bone — 
An*  what  way  would  my  soul  be  comforted 

In  God's  heaven  alone? — 
He  will  lie  with  his  right  arm  under  his  head, 
But  there's  never  another  could  find  his  bed 

But  his  mother — his  own. 

An*  why  wouldn't  I  hear  him  call  from  the 

deep 

On  this  April  morn? 
Sure,  I've  felt  his  call,  and  myself  asleep 

An'  himself  unborn ! 

AnJ  they  do  be  sayin'  that  quare  things  creep 
From  the  depths  o'  the  sea  when  the  spring 

tides  leap 
Of  an  April  morn. 


McARONI    BALLADS  19 


SO  GLAD  FOR  SPREENG 

EEF  som'body  com*  to-day 
To  dees  fruita-stan'  an'  say: 
"Wa't?    Banana  two  for  fi'? 
Seems  to  me  dat's  verra  high ! " 
I  would  look  up  een  da  sky 
Where  da  sun  ees  shine  so  bright, 
An*  da  clouds  so  sof'  an*  white 
Sail  like  boats  I  use'  to  see 
Een  da  bay  at  Napoli; 
An*  so  softa  theeng  I  am, 
I  would  notta  care  a  dam 
Eef  da  customer  should  be 
Sly  enough  for  taka  three! 
Eef  like  dat  you  com'  to-day 
Mebbe  so  I  justa  say: 
"  See  da  Tony  McAroni! 

He  ees  verra  lazy  thing, 
Wat  da  deuce  he  care  for  money? 
Here  ees  com*  da  spreeng! " 

Eef  to-day  I  had  a  wife 

An'  she  say:  "My  love!  my  life! 


20  McARONI    BALLADS 

I  mus'  have  fi'-dollar  note 
For  da  new  spreeng  hat  an*  coat," 
Theenk  I  gona  grab  her  throat, 
Bang  her  head  agains'  da  wall? 
Eh!  To-day?    Oh,  not  at  all! 
She  would  look  so  pretta  dere 
Weeth  da  sunshine  on  her  hair, 
I  would  look  at  her,  an*  den 
I  would  tal  her:  "  Taka  ten!" 
Eef  I  had  a  wife  to-day 
I  am  sure  dat  I  would  say: 

"All  right,  Mrs.  McAroni, 
I  am  verra  softa  theeng. 

Wat  de  deuce  I  care  for  money? 
Here  ees  com'  da  spreeng!  " 


McARONI    BALLADS  21 


GOOD  FRIDAY— 1917 

THE  die  is  cast  for  war! 
So  be  it  then ! 
And  in  the  deep  heart's  core 

Of  earnest  men 
An  augury  of  good 
For  human  brotherhood 
Through  spilth  of  guiltless  blood 
Is  born  again. 

With  honor,  scorning  loss, 

Or  blame  or  praise, 
The  nation  lifts  its  cross 

This  day  of  days; 
And  under  war-lit  skies, 
Unto  His  patient  eyes 
It  dares,  all  reverent-wise, 

Its  own  to  raise. 

The  storm-wrack  blots  the  sun. 

So  be  it  then ! 
For  God,  when  all  is  done, 

Shall  reign  again. 


22  McARONI   BALLADS 

From  all  that  horror  dreamed, 
From  good  that  evil  seemed 
Shall  rise  a  world  redeemed! 
Amen!     Amen! 


McARONI    BALLADS  23 


APRIL 

HERE  comes  April !  filmy-fair, 
Green  of  cap  and  kirtle, 
Silver  dew-drops  in  her  hair 
And  a  sprig  of  myrtle. 

Here  comes  April  up  the  land, 

Irish  as  Killarney, 
Subject  to  no  man's  command, 

Proof  against  his  blarney. 

Smiles  or  tears  she  wears  at  will; 

Often  she's  "  desateful," 
But  what  gifts  she's  pleased  to  spill 

Take  them  and  be  grateful! 

No  directing  mortal  hands 
Touch  this  quaint  equation; 

She  is  Irish,  and  demands 
Self-determination. 


24  McARONI    BALLADS 


RAVIOLI 

SIGNOR  DEL  VECCHIO,  dees  ees  for 
you, 
Also  your  partner,  Signer  Magazzu. 

Nevva  bayfore  have  I  soocha  dalight, 
Nevva  sooch  fina  good  eatin'  has  been 
Stucka  so  playnta  eensida  my  skeen 

Like  een  your  restaurant  Saturday  night! 

Dere  was  som'  seelly  old  Irishman  dere, 

Fat  an*  so  beeg  lika  frog  een  hees  chair, 
Stuffin'  hees  stummick  weeth  soup  an*  weeth 

bread, 
Teell  you  gon'  theenk  he  would  bust  an*  be 

dead. 

No,  but  he  don't;  he  ees  steell  on  da  job, 
Eatin'    da    feesh    an'    da — how-you-call? — 

"squab." 

Porco!    Dat's  only  kind  food  he  can  see; 
Geeve  heem  hees  skeenaful — so,  lat  heem 

be- 
But,  "  Ravioli  " !    Ah !  dat's  for  me ! 


McARONI    BALLADS  25 

Paste   for  da  noodle  rolled  out  teell   eet's 

theen, 

Fine  tendra  cheecken  cut  up  to  put  een; 
Put  dem  togethra — so,  presto! — an'  mak' 
Beautiful,  reech  leetla  cracker  or  cak'. 
Den  you  weell  cook  for  da  sauce  upon  dese 
Mushroom,  tomat'  an'  da  fine  Roma  cheese. 
Breeng  dem  to  table  so  hot  as  can  be; 
Breeng  dem  more  playnta,  more  playnta! 

Oh,  gee! 
Dat's  "  Ravioli  "  an'  dats'a  for  me! 

Signor  del  Vecchio,  healtha  for  you! 
Also  your  partner,  Signor  Magazzu. 

Nevva  bayfore  have  I  soocha  dalight, 
Nevva  sooch  beautiful  eatin'  has  been 
Stucka  so  playnta  eensida  my  skeen 

Like  een  your  restaurant  Saturday  night! 


26  McARONI    BALLADS 


THE  CONSTANT  POET 

ONCE  more,  my  muse,  'tis  time  to  be  in 
voking 

The  offices  of  good  St.  Valentine. 
This  year  'tis  Phyllis'  name  that  I  am  yoking 
In  verse  with  mine. 

Last  year  it  was  a  ballad  to  Miranda, 
The  year  before  a  triolet  to  Dot. 

No  doubt  I  seem  a  fickle  goose — or  gander — 
But  I  am  not. 

I  hesitate  to  contemplate  the  number 

Of    female    names    I've    fashioned    to    my 

rhyme, 
Whene'er    I    rouse    my    weary    muse    from 

slumber 
About  this  time. 

I've  breathed  my  love  for  Dolly,  Grace  and 

Cora; 

In  other  years  I've  run  to  Nell  and  Belle. 
How  many  times  I've  yearned  for  Bess  and 

Dora 
I  cannot  tell. 


McARONI    BALLADS  27 

Now  in  the  charms  of  Phyllis  I  am  basking, 
And  all  the  love  I  bear  her  must  be  told. 

For  if  it's  not,  my  Mary  will  be  asking 
If  I've  grown  cold. 

The  secret's  out!     The  name's  imaginary; 

I  never  knew  a  "  Phyllis  "  in  my  life. 
All     names     are     merely     pseudonyms     for 
"  Mary," 

And  she's  my  wife. 


28  McARONI    BALLADS 


G.  SCALABRARTA,  FINANCIER 

GIUSEPPE  SCALABRART 
He's  gotta  huckster-cart 
Dat  he  ees  push  aroun' 
Da  streets  een  deesa  town, 
Wherevra  dere's  enough 
To  buy  hees  fruit  an'  stuff. 
But  wan  day  een  hees  cart 
Dees  fallow  Scalabrart' 
Ees  carry,  for  a  change, 
A  load  dat's  verra  strange. 

Here  ees  da  way  of  eet: 
Dere's  lady  een  wan  street 
Dat  owe  heem  seexty  cent, 
An'  act  so  like  she  meant 
She  nevva  gona  pay; 
An*  she's  gon'  move  away, 
For  on  da  house  wan  day 
He  see  a  sign  dat  say : 
"  Dees  Property  For  Sell." 
Giuseppe  reeng  da  bell, 


McARONI    BALLADS  29 

An'  w'en  she  com*  he  say: 
"  My  seexty  cent;  you  pay 
Eef  mebbe  so  I  find 
Som'body  dat'sa  mind 
For  buy  da  house  from  you?  " 
She  laugh  an',  "  Eef  you  do," 
She  say,  "  an'  I  can  gat 
My  price — four  thousan'  flat — 
I  pay  your  beell  on  sight." 
Giuseppe  say:  "All  right." 


Eet's  nexta  morna  w'en 
He  reeng  da  bell  agen; 
Da  lady  com'  an'  say: 
"  I  want  no  fruit  to-day." 
But  he  say:  "  Waita,  pleass! 
Dese  fruits  no  grow  on  trees; 
Com',  lady,  looka  dese !  " 
Den  een  hees  cart  he  shows — 
Now,  w'at  you  gon'  su'pose? — 
Een  undra  pile  of  rags 
Ees  old  teen  cans  an'  bags, 
An'  dere  ees  som'  of  dese 
Dat's  full  weeth  ten-cent  piece; 


30  McARONI    BALLADS 

An'  some  weeth  neeckels,  too, 
An'  pennies;  an'  a  few 
Weeth  feefty,  twanty-fi', 
An'  som'  got  notes  so  high 
As  fi',  ten-dollar  beell! 
He  say :  "  Now,  eef  you  weell, 
Pleas',  lady,  be  so  kind 
To  count  all  dese,  you'll  find 
Four  thousan'  dollar  here — 
No,  notta  quite,  but  near — - 
You  see,  I  hate  like  hal 
For  losin'  w'at  you  owe, 
Dat  seexty  cent,  you  know, 
And  so  I  theenk  eet  wal 
For  buy  da  house  mysal'." 


McARONI    BALLADS  31 


BALLADE  OF  THE  TEMPTING  BOOK 

SOMETIMES  when  I  sit  down  at  night 
And  try  to  think  of  something  new, 
Some  odd  conceit  that  I  may  write 
And  work  into  a  verse  or  two, 
There  often  dawns  upon  my  view, 
The  while  my  feeble  thoughts  I  nurse, 
A  little  book  in  gold  and  blue — 

"  The  Oxford  Book  of  English  Verse." 

And  though  I  try,  in  wild  affright 
At  thought  of  all  I  have  to  do, 

To  keep  that  volume  out  of  sight, 
If  I  so  much  as  look  askew 
I  catch  it  playing  peek-a-boo. 
Then  work  may  go  to — pot,  or  worse! 

I'm  giving  up  the  evening  to 

"  The  Oxford  Book  of  English  Verse." 

Of  some  for  essays  recondite, 
And  some  for  frothy  fiction  sue, 

But  give  to  me  for  my  delight 

One  tuneful  tome  to  ramble  through; 


32  McARONI    BALLADS 

To  hear  the  first  quaint  "  Sing  Cuccu !  " 
And  all  those  noble  songs  rehearse 
Whose  deathless  melodies  imbue 

"  The  Oxford  Book  of  English  Verse." 

L'Envoi 

Kind  Reader,  here's  a  tip  for  you : 
Go  buy,  though  skinny  be  your  purse 

And  other  books  of  yours  be  few, 

"  The  Oxford  Book  of  English  Verse." 


McARONI    BALLADS  33 


DA  WHEESTLIN'  BARBER 


ELS'  night  you  hear  da  op'ra? 
Eef  you  was  uppa  stair 
An*  eef  you  know  Moralli 

You  mebbe  saw  heem  dere. 
Moralli?     He's  a  barber, 

But  verra  bright  an'  smart, 
An*  crazy  for  da  op'ra; 

He  knows  dem  all  by  heart. 
He's  alia  tima  wheestlin', 

An'  often  you  can  find 
Jus'  from  da  tune  he  wheestles 

Wat  thoughts  ees  een  hees  mind. 
Eef  you  would  ask  a  question, 

Da  answer  you  would  gat 
Ees  notheeng  but  som'  music  — 

Ha!  w'at  you  theenk  of  dat? 

Las'  week  hees  wife,  Lucia  — 
Fine  woman,  too,  is  she  — 

She  gave  to  heem  som'  babies, 
Not  only  wan,  but  three! 


34  McARONI    BALLADS 

Eef  to  your  shop  som'  neighbors 

Should  breeng  sooch  news  to  you 
Eet  sure  would  jus'  excite  you 

To  say  a  word  or  two; 
But  deesa  Joe  Moralli, 

Dees  music-crazy  loon, 
He  never  stopped  hees  wheestlin' — 

But  justa  changed  hees  tune. 
Dees  answer  from  hees  music 

Was  all  dat  dey  could  gat : 
"  Trio  from  '  Trovatore.'  " 

Ha!  w'at  you  theenk  of  dat? 

He  nevva  stopped  hees  wheestlin' 

Dat  "  Trovatore  "  tune, 
Not  even  w'en  he's  dreenkin' 

Weeth  frands  een  da  saloon. 
He  wheestled  eet  dat  evenin' 

W'en  home  he  went  to  see 
Hees  granda  wife,  Lucia, 

An'  leetla  babies  three. 
But  w'en  he  stood  bayfore  dem 

He  was  so  full  weeth  dreenk, 
He  looked  upon  dose  babies 

AnJ  wheestle — W'at  you  theenk? 


McARONI    BALLADS  35 

O!  den  da  tune  he  wheestled 

Was — how-you-call-eet? — "  pat:  " 

"  Sextetta  from  Lucia." 

Ha!  w'at  you  theenk  of  dat? 


36  McARONI    BALLADS 


A  LITTLE  KERRY  SONG 

THERE'S  grand  big  girls  that  walks 
the  earth, 

An'  some  that's  gone  to  glory, 
That  have  been  praised  beyond  their 

worth 

To  live  in  song  and  story. 
O !  one  may  have  the  classic  face 

That  poets  love  to  honor, 
An*  still  another  wear  the  grace 

O'  Venus'  self  upon  her; 
Some  tall  an'  stately  queens  may  be, 

An*  some  be  big  an'  merry — 
Och !  take  them  all,  but  leave  for  me 
One  little  girl  from  Kerry! 

Sure,  Kerry  is  a  little  place, 

An'  everything's  in  keepin' : 
The  biggest  heroes  of  the  race 

In  little  graves  are  sleepin'; 
An*  little  cows  give  little  crame, 

Fur  little  fairies  take  it; 
An*  little  girls  think  little  shame 

To  take  a  heart  an'  break  it. 


McARONI    BALLADS  37 

Och !  here's  a  little  Kerry  lad 
That  would  be  O !  so  merry, 

If  but  your  little  heart  he  had, 
O !  little  girl  from  Kerry ! 


38  McARONI    BALLADS 


DA  VERRA  LEETLA  BABY 

IRISH  Padre  Tommeeckbride 
Laughed  an*  laughed  onteell  he  cried. 
Always  he  ees  do  dat  way 
At  mos'  evra  theeng  I  say. 
Ees  no  matter  w'at  I  spoke, 
He  would  tak'  eet  for  a  joke; 
Eet's  a  shame  to  tease  a  man 
Wen  he  do  da  best  he  can! 

Now,  for  eenstance,  yestaday 
Dere's  a  chrees'nin*  down  our  way; 
Eet's  a  baby  call'  "  Carlott'  " 
Dat  my  cousin  Rosa's  got. 
O!  so  small,  jus'  two  weeks  old — 
Een  wan  handa  you  could  hold! 
Wai,  I  am  da  wan  dat  stand 
For  dees  leetla  child,  my  frand — 
How  you  call  een  deesa  land? 
"  Godda-father  ?  "    Yes,  dat's  me ! 
Wai,  w'en  all  ees  done,  you  see, 
An*  da  child  ees  bapatize', 
Padre  Tommeeckbride,  he  cries: 


McARONI    BALLADS  39 

"  Evrabody  com*  dees  way. 

We  must  write  eet  down,"  he  say. 

While  he's  writin'  een  da  book, 
From  my  pocket  here  I  took 
Twenta-fi'-cent  piece,  my  frand, 
An'  I  put  eet  een  hees  hand. 
"  Thanks !  "  he  say,  an'  smiles  at  me. 
Den  Bianca  Baldi,  she — 
While  da  padre  looks  at  eet — 
Wheespers:  "  Dat's  a  leetle  beet!  " 
"  Sure/'  I  tal  her,  "  dat'sa  true, 
But  da  baby's  leetla,  too." 

Irish  Padre  Tommeckbride 
Laughed  an'  laughed  onteell  he  cried. 
Always  he  ees  do  dat  way 
At  mos'  evratheeng  I  say; 
Eet's  a  shame  to  tease  a  man 
Wen  he  do  da  best  he  can! 


40  McARONI    BALLADS 


A  VALENTINE 

THERE  was  a  time, when  we  were  young 
together 

And  all  the  thorns  of  life  were  yet  to  seek, 
This    day    brought    roses,    in    the    wintriest 

weather, 
To  burn  your  cheek. 

Oh,  not  alone  the  wanton  winds  that  sought 

you 

Were  wont  your  lilies  to  incarnadine; 
Your    roses    deepened    when    the    postman 

brought  you 
My  valentine. 

The  words  I  wrote,  my  still  fond  breast  re 
members, 
Were  leaping  tongues  from  out  a  heart  of 

fire; 
They  breathed,  nor  have  they  lost  in  graying 

embers 
Young  love's  desire ! 


McARONI    BALLADS  41 

But  now,  my  dear,  this  fervent  song  I  sing 
you 

Has  holier  designs  on  heaven's  wealth; 
I  pray  this  little  valentine  may  bring  you 

The  rose  of  health. 


42  McARONI    BALLADS 


LEETLA  GIUSEPPINA 

JOE  BARATTA'S  Giuseppina 
She's  so  cute  as  she  can  be; 
Justa  com'  here  from  Messina, 

Weeth  da  resta  family. 
Joe  had  money  in  da  banka — 

He  been  savin'  for  a  year — 
An'  he  breeng  hees  wife,  Bianca, 

An'  da  three  small  children  here. 
First  ees  baby,  Catarina, 

Nexta  Paolo   (w'at  you  call 
Een  da  Inglaice  langwadge  "  Paul "), 
An'  da  smartest  wan  of  all — 
Giuseppina ! 

Giuseppina  justa  seven, 

But  so  smart  as  she  can  be; 
Wida-wake  at  night-time  even, 

Dere's  so  mooch  dat's  strange  to  see. 
W'at  you  theenk  ees  mos'  surprise  her? 

No;  ees  not  da  buildin's  tall; 
Eef,  my  frand,  you  would  be  wisa 

You  mus'  theenk  of  som'theeng  small. 


McARONI    BALLADS  43 

Eet's  an  ant!     Wen  first  she  seena 
Wan  o'  dem  upon  da  ground, 
How  she  laughed  an*  danced  around: 
"  O !     '  Formica/  he  has  found 
Giuseppina! " 

"O!"  she  cried  to  heem,  "Formica" 

(Dat's  Italian  name  for  heem), 
"How  you  gatta  here  so  queecka? 
For  I  know  you  no  can  sweem ; 
An*  you  was  not  on  da  sheepa, 
For  I  deed  not  see  you  dere. 
How  you  evva  mak'  da  treepa? 

Only  birds  can  fly  een  air. 
How  you  gat  here  from  Messina? 
O!  at  las'  I  ondrastand! 
You  have  dugga  through  da  land 
Jus'  to  find  your  leetla  frand, 
Giuseppina !  " 


44  McARONI    BALLADS 

BALLADE  OF  THE  STRANGE  WORD 

(See  Webster's  Unabridged) 

THESE  warm  spring  days 
When  skies  are  blue 
I  yearn  for  ways 

My  youth  once  knew; 
When  cares  were  few 
And  never  great, 
I'd  nothing  do 
But  "apricate." 

To-day  my  gaze 

Meandering  through 
What  Webster  says — 

How  language  grew! — 

Chance  brought  to  view 
That  word  ornate. 

Don't  "  fuss  "  or  "  stew," 
But  "apricate." 

Small  good  life  pays 

To  me  or  you, 
When  worry  sways 

The  health  askew. 


Me ARONI    BALLADS  45 

To  reimbue 
With  "  pep  "  our  state, 

We  shouldn't  "  rue," 
But  "apricate." 

L'Envoi 

Ye  gods!  we  sue, 

From  morn  till  late: 
Let's  nothing-  do 

But  "  apricate." 


46  McARONI    BALLADS 


CHERRY  PIE 

O  CHERRY  pie!    A  song  for  thee! 
Let  not  the  crusts  close-wedded  be, 
But  puffed  and  flaky,  plumped  with  meat, 
And  all  the  red  heart  dripping  sweet 
With  luscious  oozings  syrupy. 

Ah!  that's  the  cherry  pie  for  me! 
I'll  want  two  "  helpin's;  "  maybe  three — 
Who  ever  got  enough   to   eat 
O'  cherry  pie? 

What  odds  if  in  our  dreams  we  see 
Nightmares  and  goblins?     We'll  agree, 
Though  Pain  usurp  Joy's  earlier  seat, 
No  collywobs  can  quite  defeat 
The  gustatory  pleasures  we 
Owe  cherry  pie. 


McARONI    BALLADS  47 


EEN  COURT 

1WAS  een  court  wan  day  las'  week, 
An'  eet  was  strange  to  me. 
I  like  eet  not;  steell,  I  would  speak 

Of  som'theeng  dere  I  see. 
To  you,  dat  know  da  court  so  wal, 

I  s'pose  eet's  notheeng  new, 
But  you  are  kind,  so  lat  me  tal 
Dees  leetla  theeng  to  you : 

Da  "  Judge  " — I  theenk  dey  call  heem  so — 

Da  bossa  for  da  place, 
He's  fine,  beeg,  han'som'  man,  an'  O! 

Sooch  kindness  een  da  face. 
Wal,  soon  dey  breeng  a  pris'ner  dere, 

A   leetla  boy;   so   small 
Dat  teell  dey  stand  heem  on  a  chair 

I  did  not  see  at  all! 
Poor  leetla  keed,  I  s'pose  he  might 

Be  tan  year  old  or  less; 
I  nevva  see  sooch  sorry  sight, 

Sooch  peecture  of  deestress. 


48  McARONI    BALLADS 

"  Dees  ees  a  verra  badda  child," 

Ees  say  da  bigga  cop 
Dat  hold  hees  arm;  "  he's  runna  wild, 

An'  so  I  tak'  heem  up." 
You  theenk  so  smalla  keed  like  dat 

Would  cry,  for  be  so  scare' ; 
But  no,  he  tweest  hees  ragged  hat 

An'  justa  nevva  care. 
Den  speaks  da  Judge,  an'  O!  so  sweet, 

Like  music  ees  hees  voice. 
He  tals  heem  how  da  ceety  street 

Ees  notta  place  for  boys. 
At  first  da  boy  looks  roun'  da  place, 

So  like  he  nevva  heard, 
But  soon  he  watch  da  Judge's  face 

An'  dreenks  een  evra  word. 
"  My  child,  would  you  not  like  to  go 

Where  dere  ees  always  food, 
A  gooda  home,  where  you  may  grow 

For  be  da  man  you  should?" 
Da  boy  mak's  swallers  een  hees  throat 

As  eef  he  try  to  speak, 
But  no  wan  near  could  hear  a  note, 

Hees  voice  eet  was  so  weak. 


McARONI    BALLADS  49 

"  Eh?    Wat  was  dat?  "  da  Judge  he  said. 

"  Wat  deed  you  say,  my  dear?  " 
An*  den  he  leaned  hees  han'som'  head 

Down  close  to  heem  to  hear. 
I  s'pose  da  boy's  so  strange,  so  wild, 

He  deed  not  ondrastand; 
He  only  knew  dat  Judge  so  mild 

Was  sure  to  be  hees  frand. 
An*  so  hees  skeenny  arms  reached  out — 

He  deed  not  try  to  speak — 
But,  leeftin'  up  hees  leetla  mout' 

He  keessed  heem  on  da  cheek! 

O!  hal,  my  frand,  don't  be  ashame* 

For  w'at  ees  een  your  eye ! 
Weeth  me,  weeth  all,  eet  was  da  same, 

We  could  not  halp  but  cry; 
Not  tears  for  dat  we  was  so  sad, 

But  for  da  joy  to  find 
A  leetla  boy  dat  was  so  glad, 

A  man  dat  was  so  kind ! 


50  McARONI    BALLADS 


THE  MARINE 

IN  assorted  shades  of  green 
'You  have  painted  The  Marine, 
And  a  deal  of  yarns  about  him  you've  been  spin 
ning; 

He  has  much  to  say  to  you 
Of  his  red  and  white  and  blue, 
So  he'd  like  to  have  your  ear  and  take  his  inning : 

"Back  of  Freedom's  earliest  glimmer, 

When  the  night  was  never  dimmer, 
TAnd  before  the  light  of  hope  upon  the  mountain 
top  was  shed, 

There  were  men  whose  steel  flashed  splendid 

When  the  long  black  night  was  ended 
'And  the  sun  looked  in  upon  them  'round  the  Na 
tion's  trundle  bed; 

rAnd  in  that  electric  air, 

With  the  laurel  in  our  hair, 
We  Colonial  Marines,  of  the  victor  forces  deans, 

We  were  there! 

When  the  ships  of  Jones  and  Barry 
Sallied  gayly  forth  to  harry 


McARONI    BALLADS  51 

And  to  take  the  proudest  vaunt ers  of  the  British 

navy's  might, 

When  that  most  belov'd  commander 
To  the  foe's  demand  "  Surrender!  " 
Made  his  lion-hearted  answer,  "  We  have  just 

begun  to  fight! " 
Who  were  first  and  most  to  dare 
In  the  battle  lantern's  glare? 
We,  as  landsmen  or  as  tars,  still  the  myrmidons 

of  Mars, 
We  were  there! 

In  those  sailing  ships  of  wonder, 
When,  with  taffrail  seething  under, 
From  the  gun-decks  came  the  thunder  of  a  broad 
side  dealing  woe; 

'And  with  Perry,  Hull — and  later — 
With  the  dashing  young  Decatur, 
In  the  war  wherein  no  waters  saw  our  yielding 

to  the  foe, 

We  were  not  denied  our  share 
Of  the  battle  joy  so  rare; 
For  the  easing  of  our  spleens,  we  amphibious 

Marines, 
We  were  there! 


52  McARONI    BALLADS 

Out  of  iron  ships  were  hollowed 
In  the  leaping  years  that  followed, 
And  they've  changed  the  style  of  fighting,  but 

they  haven't  changed  the  men; 
Shall  we,  first  of  Yankee  yeomen 
To  repel  those  ancient  foemen, 
Let  an  ocean  stay  our  vengeance,  if  it  failed  to 

stay  it  then? 

Nay,  in  France  the  ever  fair 
When  Old  Glory  takes  the  air, 
The  ubiquitous  Marine,  as  becomes  the  fighting 

dean, 

Will  be  there! " 
June,  1917 


McARONI    BALLADS  53 


DA  JOB  DAT  RAN  AWAY 

NOT  evra  Dagoman  like  me 
Can  find  hees  place  een  deesa  Ian'. 
Som',  sure,  must  disappointa  be; 
But  worst  of  all  you  evva  see 
Ees  Vinci,  da  Venetian. 

You  see,  dees  Vinci  had  a  frand 
Dat  com'  las'  year  to  deesa  land 
An'  gotta  job  out  West,  you  know, 
Dat  suit  heem  verra  wal;  an'  so 
He  sant  hees  folks  back  home  wan  day 
A  peecture  posta-card  dat  say: 
"  Here's  work  for  all,  an*  gooda  pay !  " 
"Ah!"  cries  dees  Vinci,  w'en  he  see 
Da  posta-card,  "  dat's  place  for  me." 
An'  just  so  queeck  as  eet  could  be 
He  tooka  sheep  an'  cross  da  sea. 
He  deed  not  stop,  he  would  not  rest 
Onteell  he's  een  dat  town  out  West. 
But  den — Oh,  my,  eet  mak'  you  seeck 
To  hear  da  badda  words  he  speak. 


54  McARONI    BALLADS 

"  Dat  damma  posta-card!  "  he  cry, 
"  Eet  was  a  lie!  eet  was  a  lie! 
I  nevva  see  a  town  so  dry!" 
Oh,  sure,  eet  was  a  shame,  my  frand. 
Eh?  w'at?    Oh,  don't  you  ondrastand? 
Dat  peecture-card  hees  frand  ees  sand 
Was  wan  dat  showed  da  town  w'en  eet 
Had  playnta  water  een  da  street, 
W'en  floods  was  heavy  lasta  year — 
Yes!    Vinci  ees  a  gondolier. 

Not  evra  Dagoman  like  me 

Can  find  hees  place  een  deesa  Ian*. 

Som',  sure,  must  disappointa  be; 

But  worst  of  all  you  evva  see 
Ees  Vinci,  da  Venetian. 


McARONI    BALLADS  55 


"THE  MAN  AT  THE  TURNPIKE  BAR" 

1WAS  fifty-odd  year  on  the  Lancaster  Pike, 
Takin'  the  toll,  takin'  the  toll; 
But  it's  never  again  I'll  be  doin'  the  like, 
Since  we've  lost  the  conthrol,  lost  the  con- 

throl. 

An*  it's  manny  a  thraveler  usin'  the  road 
Will  be  glad  o'  their  freedom;  ye'd  know 

be  their  laughter  now. 
But  for  all  they're  so  free  here's  one  heart 

wears  a  load, 

Wid  no  wish  to  go  on,  but  to  sit  an'  look 
afther  now. 

Oh,  the  wonders  o'  Beauty  I  caught  wid  me 

eye, 

Takin'  the  toll,  takin'  the  toll! 
For    to    stand    like    a    king,    wid    the    world 

sthreamin'  by, 
Is  a  feast  for  the  soul,  food  for  the  soul. 


56  McARONI    BALLADS 

For  there  wasn't  a  day  that  I  stood  in  that 

place 
But   was   blessed   wid   the   grace   of   some 

dacint  girl's  laughter,  now, 
Or  the  turn  of  a  head  or  the  gleam  of  a  face, 
That  I'll  often   an'  often  be  glad  to  look 
afther  now! 

Never  again  will  I  stand,  d'ye  mind, 

Takin'  the  toll,  takin'  the  toll; 
Ah!  but  the  Beauty  I've  seen  is  still  kind, 

An'  it's  food  for  my  soul,  food  for  my  soul. 
Pick  the  two  eyes  from  my  head,  if  you  will, 

Faith,  ye  can't  rob  me  o'  fifty  years'  laugh 
ter,  now; 
No!  nor  of  takin'  my  toll  from  them  still, 

All  the  dear  roads  that  I  sit  an'  look  afther, 
now! 


McARONI    BALLADS  57 


AT  A  HALL-ROOM  WINDOW 

SHE  lives  in  the  Square  below  me  there. 
Ah!  me,  if  she'd  only  love  me. 
But  she  walks  abroad  with  her  head  in  the 
air 

Supremely  oblivious  of  me. 
Time  was  when  the  Square  was  queenly,  too, 

Ere  Commerce,  changing  old  orders, 
Found  a  foothold  here  for  the  parvenu, 

For  shops,  for  us  bachelor  boarders. 
The  house  of  her  fathers,  square  and  brown, 

Grand  manse  of  the  olden  city, 
Seems  looking  down  on  the  tawdry  town 

With  a  mixture  of  scorn  and  pity. 
This   look  of  her  house,   austere,   aloof, 

Rests  now  on  her  high-bred  features, 
When  she  issues  forth  from  beneath  her  roof 

To  walk  among  meaner  creatures. 
I  sit  at  my  window  under  the  eaves 

And  yearn   to  be   there  beside  her, 
But  a  gulf  between  like  the  ocean  heaves, 

For  never  a  gulf  was  wider. 


58  McARONI    BALLADS 

She  lives  in  the  Square  below  me  there — 
Ah!  me,  if  she'd  only  love  me! 

She  lives  in  the  Square  below  me  there, 
But  moves  in  a  circle  above  me. 


McARONI    BALLADS  59 


TWO  DAYS 

OLD  Mike  Clancy  went  for  a  stroll, 
An*  warm  an'  clear  was  the  sky, 
But  he  came  back  home  with  clouds  on  his 

soul 
An'  a  glint  o'  rain  in  his  eye. 

"Och!  cold  it  is  out  there,"  sez  he; 
"  The  street's  no  place  these  days  fur  me; 
Wid  motors  runnin'  through  the  town 
The  way  they're  like  to  knock  ye  down, 
Wid  all  the  rush  an'  moidherin'  noise, 
The  impudence  of  upstart  boys. 
An'  girls,  that  walk  as  bold  as  brass, 
An'  1'ave  small  room  fur  ye  to  pass. 
In  twenty  blocks,  or  mebbe  more, 
I  saw  no  face  I'd  seen  before, 
Or  care,  indeed,  to  see  agen! 
Wat's  come  of  all  the  dacent  men, 
The  kindly  friends,  I  use'  to  meet 
In  other  days  upon  the  street? 
JTis  here  at  home's  the  place  fur  me; 
Och!  cold  it  is  out  there,"  sez  he. 


60  McARONI    BALLADS 

Old  Mike  Clancy  went  for  a  stroll, 
An*  cold  an'  gray  was  the  sky, 

But  he  came  back  home  with  warmth  in 

his  soul 
An*  a  glint  o'  sun  in  his  eye. 

"  O !  sure,  this  day  was  fine/'  sez  he, 
"An*  who  d'ye  think  walked  up  to  me? 
A  man  I  thought  long  dead — Tim  Kane! 
Och !  didn't  we  talk,  there  in  the  rain, 
The  soft,  kind  rain  we  use'  to  know — 
O !  not  so  very  long  ago — 
An'  didn't  we  have  a  dale  to  say? 
He's  eighty-two  years  old  come  May — 
An'  I'm  no  more  than  sivinty-nine ! 
An'  didn't  he  stan'  there  straight  an'  fine? 
It  done  me  good,  the  look  in  his  eye, 
An'  how  he  laughed  an'  slapped  his  thigh; 
'  I'm  good,'  sez  he,  '  fur  ten  years,  too ! ' 
An'  faith  I  do  believe  it's  true. 
A  man's  as  old  as  he  feels,  d'ye  see? — 
O!  sure,  this  day  was  fine,"  sez  he. 


Me  A  RON  I    BALLADS  61 


DA  FARMER 

IDON'TA  care  eef  all  dees  town 
Turn  upsi'  down, 

An'  earth-quake  com'  along  som'  day 
An'  bust  eet  up.     I  gona  'way; 

I  won't  be  dere! 
At  last  I  gona  turn  my  face 
From  evratheeng  een  deesa  place. 
I  don'ta  care. 

I  don'ta  care  for  town  nohow; 

I'm  farmer  now! 
I  gotta  house  dat  Stan's  alone, 
Three  leetla  rooms — but  all  my  own — 

Wan  bed,  two  chair, 
Wan  stove,  two  table  an'  wan  wife. 
So  for  dees  town,  you  bat  my  life, 

I  don'ta  care! 

I  don'ta  care  for  ceety  street; 
Eet  smals  not  sweet. 


62  McARONI    BALLADS 

But  now  I  know  how  mooch  eet's  worth 
To  own  som'  leetla  cleana  earth, 

To  own  som'  air 

Dat's  sweet  as  wine  upon  da  breath — 
Here  even  eef  I  starve  to  death, 

I  don'ta  care! 


McARONI    BALLADS  63 


TO  A  LITTLE  GIRL  OF  FIVE 

1WISH  your  eyes  might  always  look 
As  big  with  love  as  now  they  seem. 
It  cannot  be !    Your  picture-book, 
Whose  leaves  we  turned  together,  took 
Away  my  dream. 

It  was  the  old  man  on  that  page 

Who  bore  the  hour-glass  and  scythe. 

That  rude  reminder  of  old  age ! 

With  what  a  rush  of  inward  rage 
He  made  me  writhe! 

He  stirred  you,  too,  to  frown  and  say: 
"The  ugly  thing!    And  who  is  he?" 
"  That  man,  my  dear,"  I  said,  "  some  day 
Is  going  to  come  and  steal  away 
Your  heart  from  me." 

"Oh,  no!"  you  said.     But  it  is  true; 

Unless  in  some  way  we   contrive 
To  fill  that  old  man's  path  with  glue 
And  keep  me  forty-eight,  and  you 

Forever  five! 


64  McARONI    BALLADS 


THE  SEA-EAGLES  OF  COLUMBIA 

Behind  him  lay  the  gray  Azores ; 

Behind  the  Gates  of  Hercules; 
Before  him  not  the  ghost  of  shores, 

Before  him  only  shoreless  seas. 

— From  Joaquin  Miller's  "  Columbus" 

COLUMBIA'S  eagles  of  the  sea 
Arose  and  took  the  trackless  main; 
They  were  the  first,  and  they  were  three — 

As  were  the  caravels  of  Spain. 
Before  them  lay  the  gray  Azores, 

Before  them  night,  nor  glint  of  dawn, 
But  through  the   gloom   that  veiled  those 
shores 

They  still  sailed  on,  and  on,  and  on! 

The  spirit  of  the  Genoese, 

Be  sure,  was  burning  in  each  breast 
In  flight  across  those  chartless  seas 

Where  first  his  galleons  braved  the  west. 
From  out  that  west  now  grown  so  great 

His  eagles  winged  into  the  dawn, 
And,  matching  his  disdain  of  fate, 

With  courage  high,  sailed  on  and  on ! 


McARONI    BALLADS  65 

What  joy,  what  thrill  was  theirs,  to  be 

The  first  through  that  vast  void  to  fly, 
And,  poised  above  the  central  sea, 

Meet  morning  coming  up  the  sky! 
Still  toward  the  sun  those  eagles  flew; 

Two,  faltering  in  the  fog,  were  gone! 
But  one,  through  mists  and  rifts  of  blue, 

With  dauntless  faith  sailed  on  and  on. 

A  speck  on  ocean's  rim  appears! 

It  grows!     It  glistens  in  the  sun. 
The  happy  eagle  swoops  and  veers 

Along  the  shore.     The  goal  is  won! 

O  great  and  valiant  Genoese! 

Thy  sons  inherit  thee!     'Tis  done! 
They,  too,  across  thy  trackless  seas 

Have  borne  thy  slogan  :  "  Sail !  sail  on !  " 


66  McARONI    BALLADS 


DA  QUEENA  BEE 

MEESTER,  eef  you  nevva  see 
Housa  full  weeth  busy  bee, 
Leetla  workers  an*  deir  queen, 
I  would  like  for  takin'  you 
Where  I  eentroduce  you  to 
Giacobini's  Pasqualin*. 

She  ees  weedow,  Pasqualin'; 
Wen   dees  fallow  Giacobin' 
Dies  an*  leaves  her  lasta  fall, 
He  ain't  leave  mooch  else  at  all; 
Justa  leetla  baker-store 
An*  seex  babies — notheeng  more! 
All  are  girls,  dese  babies,  too; 
Wat  da  deuce  she  gona  do? 

Wait,  my  frand,  an*  you  weell  know, 
An*  I  bat  you  you  could  go 
Manny  mile  bayfore  you  see 
Soocha  house  for  eendustry. 
Wen  her  husband  up  an*  die 
She  ain't  got  no  time  to  cry; 


McARONI    BALLADS  67 

She  must  work  an'  nevva  stop. 
Dere's  da  babies,  dere's  da  shop, 
An*  da  house  dey're  leevin'  een; 
She  mus'  keep  dem  fine  an*  clean — 
An'  da  babies  happy,  too. 
Wat  da  deuce  she  gona  do? 
Som'  day  I  weell  show  to  you; 
Som'  day  you  mus'  go  an'  see 
How  dey  play  at  "  Busy  Bee." 

Com',  su'pose  eet  ees  da  day 
Wen  at  cleanin'  house  dey  play: 
Evra  leetla  girl  weell  stan' 
Weeth  her  leetla  brush  een  han', 
Leetla  bucket,  leetla  broom, 
For  to  scrub  an'  sweep  da  room. 
Den  weell  say  dees  Pasqualin' : 
"  Leetla  bees,  I  am  your  queen, 
Wen  I  geeve  da  word  baygeen; 
Work  an'  seeng  an'  follow  me, 
Work  an'  seeng  an'  lat  me  see 
Who  can  be  da  besta  bee!" 

Den  dey  laugh  an'  seeng  an*  go 
Makin'  joy  weeth  labor  so 


68  McARONI    BALLADS 

Eet  ees  done  bayfore  dey  know. 
So  een  all  theengs,  day  by  day, 
Makin'  work  so  lika  play, 
Pasqualina  found  da  way! 

Com',  den,  som'  day  we  weell  go, 
An'  you  weell  be  proud  to  know 

Giacobini's  Pasqualin'; 
An'  dose  leetla  busy  bee 
Wen  dey  grow  up,  you  weell  see, 

Evra  wan  hersal'  a  queen! 


McARONI    BALLADS  69 


WHAT  THE  FARMER  SAW 

JOHN  D. 
Rockefeller,  he 

Seemed  as  pleased  as  pleased  could  be. 
Seen  him  stop,  stoop  down  an*  pass 
Long  lean  fingers  through  the  grass, 
Pull  'em  out  an*  smile  a  smile 
Slick  as  his  own  Standard  He; 
Them   long  fingers   seemed  to  hold 
Somethin'  precious,  mebbe  gold — 

Anyways, 
John  D. 
Rockefeller,  he 
Seemed  as  pleased  as  pleased  could  be. 

Seen  him  shake  his  head  an'  stand 
With  the  treasure  in  his  hand, 
Gloatin'  on  it,  figgerin'  out 
What  his  find  was  worth,  no  doubt, 
Turnin*  of  it  'round  an'  'round — 
Must  'a'  been  a  pearl  he'd  found — 
Anyways, 


7o  McARONI   BALLADS 

John  D. 

Rockefeller,  he 

Seemed  as  pleased  as  pleased  could  be, 

Snuck  up  closer,  as  I  passed; 
Seen  jist  what  it  was  at  last 
That  had  tickled  of  him  so; 
Looked  an'  seen  it  plain,  but  sho! 
Blamed  thing  wusn't  much  at  all — 
Nothin'  but  a  golf-game  ball! 

An'  yit 
John  D. 
Rockefeller,  he 
Seemed  as  pleased  as  pleased  could  be. 


McARONI    BALLADS  71 


THE  SIX-O'CLOCK  RUSH 

COME  on!  the  day's  work's  done; 
Wash  up,  and  off  we  go ! 
Say,  wait  a  bit,  don't  run ; 

No  need  to  hurry  so! 
Boats,  subways,  trolleys,  trains, 

There's  lots  of  them,  you  know — 
But  what  about  those  stains? 
Wash  up  before  you  go! 

Get  rid  of  labor's  grime; 

Wash  up  before  you  go! 
Soap,  and  a  little  time, 

Make  hands  as  white  as  snow. 
Come,  make  the  soapsuds  foam! 

Remember  what  you  owe 
To  those  who  wait  at  home. 

Wash  up  before  you  go! 

Hands,  face — aye !  heart  and  mind, 

Wash  up  before  you  go! 
Leave  business  cares  behind; 

In  soapsuds  let  them  flow! 


72  McARONI    BALLADS 

That  frown,  that  ugly  scowl, 
Don't  take  that  with  you !    No, 

Leave  that  upon  the  tow'l — 
Wash  up  before  you  go! 


McARONI    BALLADS  73 


THE  CHILDLESS  WOMAN 

WHEN  I  was  but  a  little  tot 
And  wore  a  checkered  pinafore, 
I  mothered  baby-dolls  a  lot; 

So  did  my  playmate,  Emmy  Moore. 
And  yet  her  brood  of  make-believes 

Was  not  to  be  compared  with  mine — 
In  all  the  scenes  that  memory  weaves 
Still  fresh  and  fair  their  faces  shine! 

I  was  the  prouder  mother  then, 

And,  likely,  dreamed  more  dreams  than 

she, 
But  all  my  dreams  are  "might-have-been," 

While  all  of  hers  have  come  to  be. 
We've  both  been  mated  many  a  year, 

And  both  our  heads  are  growing  gray, 
But  childless  now  I  linger  here 

And  watch  her  seven  out  at  play. 

It  cannot  be  that  He  who  put 
The  mother-yearning  in  my  soul 

Designed  forevermore  to  shut 

The  gleaming  gateway  of  its  goal. 


74  McARONI    BALLADS 

I  sometimes  think  if,  quite  resigned, 
I  envy  not  my  playmate's  seven, 

My  dolls,  transfigured,  I  shall  find 
Within  the  nurseries  of  Heaven ! 


McARONI    BALLADS  75 


IN  A  SLEEPER,  10  A.M. 

EZY  lady,  languid  loiterer, 
Lying  late  in  "  Lower  9," 
You  are  apt  to  curse  with  goitre,  or 

Something  worse,  this  neck  of  mine, 
Rubbering,  rubbering,  as  I  do, 
Here  across  the  aisle  from  you. 

We,  your  curious  fellow-travelers, 
Left  our  berths  long  hours  ago; 

And  we  sit  here — caustic  cavilers — 
Wondering  why  you  are  so  slow. 

Now  and  then  the  porter,  too, 

Casts  an  ebon  frown  at  you. 


One  thing  surely  very  certain  is — 
Aye!  as  plain  as  any  pike — 

That  behind  that  dark  green  curtain  is 
Some  one  very  lady-like. 

Still  I'm  prophesying  through 

Nothing  but  that  dainty  shoe. 


76  McARONI    BALLADS 

Lazy  lady!    Won't  you  hurry  now? 

Time  is  flying  on  to  noon. 
It's  for  me  to  start  to  worry  now; 

We'll  be  at  my  station  soon, 
And  before  my  journey's  through 
I  would  like  a  glimpse  at  you. 

'  »   '  '*• :--  .  .  •  r 

Stirring  now?    Too  late!    Forever,  ma'am, 

Faceless,  formless  unto  me! 
Better  so,  perhaps,  for  never,  ma'am, 

Could  you  measure  up  to  be 
Half  so  lovely  to  the  view, 
Half  the  queen  I  fancy  you ! 


McARONI    BALLADS  77 


DA  WISA  CHILD 

A~^L  right,  I  know.    All  right,  signer; 
Da  same  old  question  like  bayfore! 
But  you  are  not  da  only  frand 
Dat  com*  to  dees  peanutta  stand 
An'  look  me  een  da  eye  an'  say: 
"Com'!  why  no  gat  married,  eh?" 
To-day  com'  wan  more  wise  dan  you, 
Dat  mebbe  gona  halp  me,  too. 

Do  you  remembra  long  ago, 
Wen  first  you  speaka  to  me  so, 
How  dat  I  mak'  confess'  to  you 
Dere  was  two  fina  girls  I  knew, 
But  dat  I  like  dem  both  so  wal 
Eet  was  too  hard  for  me  to  tal 
Wheech  wan  be  besta  wife  for  me? 
Wan  girl  was  Angela,  and  she 
Was  jus'  so  pretta  as  can  be; 
An'  she  could  seeng  so  sweet  eet  mak' 
Your  hearta  jomp  so  like  eet  br'ak, 
But  dat  was  all  dat  she  could  do. 
An'  den  dere  was  Carlotta,  too, 


78  McARONI    BALLADS 

Dat  was  da  verra  besta  cook, 
But  had  no  song  or  pretta  look 
Like  Angela,  but  steell  was  good 
For  keep  da  house  and  carry  wood. 
An'  I  was  sad  dat  time,  baycause 
I  want  a  wife,  but  steell  da  laws 
Dey  would  not  lat  me  marry  two — 
So  w'at  da  deuce  I  gona  do? 

An*  you — you  had  no  word  to  say ; 
But  here  to  me  ees  com*  to-day 
A  leetla  girl,  good  frand  o'  mine, 
Dat's  only  eight  year  old,  or  nine, 
But  verra  mooch  more  wise  dan  you. 
An'  w'at  you  s'pose  she  tal  me  do? 

"  Tak'  Angela !  "  she  say.    "  Why  not? 
Den  both  of  you  could  pay  Carlot' 
To  carry  wood  an'  cooka  too, 
An'  justa  keep  da  house  for  you." 


McARONI    BALLADS  79 


PITY  THE  POOR  POET 

THE  poet  burns,  the  whole  night 
through, 
His  "  midnight  oil,"  to  weave  a  few 

Fresh-fashioned  stanzas,  grave  or  gay, 
Which  in  the  public  prints  next  day 
May  earn  a  word  of  praise  from  you. 

JTis  not  an  easy  thing  to  do, 

When  thoughts  go  lame  and  rhymes 

askew; 

So,  many  an  imperfect  lay 
The  poet  burns. 

Small  wonder  if,  for  cheer,  he  brew 
That  "bracer"  (this  may  be  untrue; 
I  only  quote  what  people  say) 
Which  once  drove  carking  care  away 
And  brought  such  inspiration  to 
The  poet  Burns. 


8o  McARONI    BALLADS 


TO  IGNACE  PADEREWSKI 

("I  have  to  speak  about  a  country  which  is  not  yours 
in  a  language  which  is  not  mine." — Opening  words  of 
Paderewski  before  playing  for  the  Polish  Victims'  Relief 
Fund.} 

NOT  yours?    The  softly  spoken  word 
Whose  simple  native  pathos  stirred — 
As  surely  as  the  melodies 
You  drew  divinely  from  the  keys — 
The  deeps  of  every  soul  that  heard? 

The  faltering  tongue,  the  practiced  hand, 
Whiche'er  you  use,  great-hearted  Pole ! 
You  speak  what  all  can  understand — 
The  Language  of  the  Soul. 

Not  ours?     This  land  of  which  you  tell, 
Where  Kosciusko  fought  and  fell, 
And  now  a  tortured  nation  stands, 
With  streaming  eyes  and  empty  hands, 
Heroic  in  the  face  of  hell? 

Not  yours  alone  this  holy  ground; 
Of  one  great  whole  it  is  a  part — 
What  hills,  what  sundering  seas  shall  bound 
The  Country  of  the  Heart? 


McARONI    BALLADS  81 


RUBICAM  ROAD 

WHERE,  in  all  the  wide  world,  is  the 
loveliest  street? 
There  are  millions  of  roads  trod  by  billions  of 

feet, 
And  the  question,  if  asked  of  each  traveler  you 

meet, 

Will  produce  a  reply  of  a  different  mode. 
There  are  many  in  this  unregenerate  day 
Who  will  speak  for  "  Fifth  avenue,"  aye,  or 

"  Broadway," 

But  the  fortunate  few  who  are  wiser  will  say: 
"  It  is  Rubicam  Road !  " 

O!  then  sneer,  if  you  will,  and  make  game  of 
our  claim ; 

Aye !  and  have  your  rude  fling  at  the  old- 
fashioned  name 

And  the  rural  aroma  that  clings  to  the  same. 
Yet  no  beauty  so  rare  ever  glimmered  and 
glowed 

From  the  lamps  of  the  tall-towered  towns  of 
the  world, 


82  McARONI   BALLADS 

Upon    streets    where    humanity    jostled    and 

swirled, 

As  the  beauty  that's  daily  and  nightly  unfurled 
Over  Rubicam  Road. 

Here's  a  street  of  the  city,  yet  skirting  a  wood 

Where  the  town's  brazen  clamors  but  seldom 
intrude; 

"  Rus  in  urbe,"  indeed  with  all  graces  imbued 
That  old  Horace  himself  might  have  shrined 
in  an  ode ! 

For  the  shadows  are  coolest,  the  sun  is  most 
bright, 

The  queen  moon  and  the  stars  shed  the  kind 
liest  light, 

And  the  peace  is  the  sweetest  that  droppeth  at 

night 
Over  Rubicam  Road. 

You  will  never  believe  it,  and  yet  it  is  true! 
I  can  prove  it  to  you,  sir — and  you,  sir — and 

you! 

You  have  only  to  go  there  and  do  as  I  do. 
You  have  simply  to  go  and  take  up  your 

abode — 


Me  A  RON  I    BALLADS  83 

Be  the  latter  as  humble  and  plain  as  it  may — 
Where  Her  kiss  in  the  morning  that  speeds 

you  away 
Will  be  drawing  you  back,  at  the  close  of  the 

day, 
Into  Rubicam  Road. 


84  McARONI    BALLADS 


TO  A  BEREAVED  MOTHER 

OH,  say  not  that  your  little  son  is  dead; 
The   word    too   harsh   and   much    too 
hopeless  seems, 
Believe,  instead, 

That  he  has  left  his  little  trundle  bed 
To  climb  the  hills 

Of  morning,  and  to  share  the  joy  that  fills 
God's  pleasant  land  of  dreams. 

Nay,  say  not  that  your  little  son  is  dead. 

It  is  not  right,  because  it  is  not  true. 
Believe,  instead, 

He  has  but  gone  the  way  that  you  must  tread, 
And,  smiling,  waits 
In  loving  ambush  by  those  pearly  gates, 

To  laugh  and  leap  at  you. 

No  knight  that  does  you  service  can  be  dead, 
Nor  idle  is  this  young  knight  gone  before. 


McARONI    BALLADS  85 

Believe,  instead, 

Upon  an  envoy's  mission  he  hath  sped 
That  doth  import 

Your  greatest  good ;  for  he  at  heaven's  court 
Is  your  ambassador. 


86  McARONI   BALLADS 


FOR  OLD  LOVERS 

THE  sap  is  bubbling  in  the  tree, 
The  pink  buds  herald  spring. 
Yet  winter  holds  for  you  and  me 
One  charm  to  which  we  cling. 
The  April  sun  grows  warm  by  noon, 

Its  daylight  skies  are  bright; 
But  the  cool  evenings  bring  the  boon 
Of  a  wood  fire  at  night. 

The  greening  sod  of  April  days 

Is  lovely  to  the  eye, 
But  firmer,  lovelier  turf  is  May's 

And  kindlier  glows  the  sky. 
Let  striplings  to  the  greenwood  go 

For  April's  chill  delight, 
But  we  two  still  shall  bless  the  glow 

Of  a  wood  fire  at  night. 


Me  ARON  I    BALLADS  87 


THE  LOVE-SONG 

YOU  often  hear  me  speak  of  Joe, 
Da  barber — Joe  Baruccio? 
An'  Giacomo  Soldini?     He 
Ees  fruita  merchant  lika  me. 

Wai,  dey  are  love  da  sama  signorina. 
Dees  fallow  from  da  barber  shop 
He  use'  for  seeng  weeth  Granda  Op', 
An'  Giacomo,  he  ees  so  slow 
He  was  no  good  at  all  w'en  Joe 

Would  seeng  to  her  an'  play  da  mando- 
lina. 

"Maria  mia!  days  are  long 
(So  made  dees  fallow  Joe  hees  song), 
Baycause  dey  keepa  me  so  far 
From  where  you  are,  O!  brighta  star, 

Maria  mia!  " 

An'  Giacomo,  w'at  could  he  do? 
He  jus'  would  say  w'en  Joe  was  through : 

"Me,  too,  Maria!'1 


88  McARONI    BALLADS 

Dees  Joe  he  deed  not  care  at  all, 
Wen  he  would  go  to  mak'  hees  call, 
Eef  Giacomo  was  also  near; 
He  was  so  proud  he  deed  not  fear 

Dat  anny  wan  could  steal  dat  signorina. 
Deed  he  not  have  da  sweeta  voice 
For  mak'  da  female  heart  rejoice? 
But  ah !  Maria,  deed  she  care 
Dat  annybody  else  was  dere 

To  hear  heem  seeng  an'  play  da  mando- 
Una? 

"  Maria  mia!  eet  ees  wrong 
(So  made  dees  Joe  wan  night  hees  song) 
To  waste  your  time  weeth  two  or  three 
Wen  you  could  be  alone  weeth  me, 

Maria  mia !  " 

Poor  Giacomo!  w'at  could  he  do? 
He  jus'  could  say  w'en  Joe  was  through : 

"Me,  too,  Maria!" 

Maria  laugh  an'  shak'  her  head; 
Her  eye  ees  bright,  her  cheek  ees  red. 
An'  when  she  rise  up  from  her  chair 
An'  stan  bayfore  dose  lovers  dere, 
You  nevva  see  so  pretta  signorina. 


McARONI    BALLADS  89 

"  We  wasta  time,"  she  say,  "  too  long; 
So  now  I,  too,  weell  seeng  a  song; 
An*  deesa  song  dat  I  weell  seeng 
Eet  ees  so  verra  leetla  theeng 

I  weell  not  need  at  all  da  mandolina: 

'  Maria  mia ! '  so  you  seeng, 
But  lova-song  ain't  everatheeng! 
So,  Joe,  good-night !    But  you — O !  stay, 
My  Giacomo,  dat  jus'  can  say : 
'  Me,  too,  Maria!'" 
Ah!  Giacomo,  w'at  could  he  do? 
He  jus'  could  say,  w'en  she  was  through : 
"Me?  O!  Maria!" 


90  McARONI    BALLADS 


WHEN  THE  MISSUS  COOKS 

OUR  Ellen  is  an  honest  cook,  though  over- 
fond  of  salt; 

And  having  mentioned  that  I've  named  her 
one  important  fault. 

She's  prompt  enough  with  breakfast  and  her 
coffee's  always  good, 

And  the  Missus  says  she's  never  very  waste 
ful  of  the  food. 

I  understand  her  luncheons  are  as  fine  as  they 
can  be, 

Though,  of  course,  that's  merely  hearsay,  for 
they're  seldom  served  to  me. 

But  though  her  Sunday  dinner  is  her  master 
piece,  no  doubt, 

My  fancy  flies  to  Thursday,  which  is  Ellen's 
"  avenin'  "  out. 

Ah !  then  the  household  Juno,  stepping  down 

to  charm  her  Jove, 
The  finest  cook  in   all   the  world  is   at  the 

kitchen  stove. 


McARONI    BALLADS  91 

I've  had  my  share  of  costly  fare  that  makes 

the  waistcoats  swell, 
And  I  am  one  that's  prone  to  dine  not  wisely, 

but  too  well; 
I've   sampled  all  the  table  d'hotes  and  a  la 

cartes  on  earth, 
I've  tasted  all  the  banquets  and  I  know  just 

what  they're  worth, 
But  when  I  yearn  to  stuff  myself  to  apoplectic 

gout, 
My  fancy  flies  to  Thursday,  which  is  Ellen's 

"  avenin'  "  out. 


92  McARONI    BALLADS 


RICHES 

IF  we  are  poor  and  do  not  know 
.  The  numerous  delights  that  flow 
From  horns  of  plenty  choked  with  gold, 
We  lack  as  well  the  cares  untold 
That  hand  in  hand  with  riches  go. 

We  have  our  home  wherein,  although 
The  outer  world  be  white  with  snow, 
We  keep  our  hearts  from  growing  cold, 
If  we  are  poor. 

We  can't  go  in  for  pomp  and  show, 
But  here  are  She  and  I,  and  O ! 

That  dimpled  little  One-year-old! 

Love's  riches  here  are  manifold. 
Dear  Lord,  we  pray  Thee  keep  us  so, 
If  we  are  poor. 


McARONI    BALLADS  93 


SINGLE  PHILOSOPHY 

ALLA    time    you    say,  "Why    don't    you 
marry?" 

Now,  I  gona  speaka  plain  to  you: 
I  won't  nevva  marry;  no,  sir,  nevva! 
For  eet  ees  not  healthy  theeng  to  do. 

How  I  know?     Signor,  eet's  verra  seemple. 

I  been  single  fallow  all  my  life, 
An'  so  long  I'm  strong  an'  wal  an'  happy 

W'ata  for  I  bother  weeth  a  wife? 
I  ain't  mak'  so  moocha  playnta  money, 

Steell  I  gotta  'nough  for  all  I  need, 
An'  I  don'ta  want  no  woman  bossa 

Keeckin'  at  mos'  evra  theeng  I  deed. 
Eh?    You  theenk  som'  time  I  weesh  be  mar 
ried? 

Sure !  jus'  once  dat  weesh  ees  com'  to  me. 
Lasta  month   I   gat  som'   kinda  fever, 

An'  I  am  so  seeck  as  I  can  be. 
Eet  ees  pretta  tough  for  single  fallow 

Wen  he's  feelin'  verra  seeck  een  bed, 


94  McARONI    BALLADS 

An'  he  would  be  glad  eef  som'  good  woman 
Lay  her  softa  hand  upon  hees  head. 

My!  I  felt  so  bad,  signor,  I  tal  you — 

Eet's  da  truth  I  speak,  you  bat  my  life! — 

Eef  mos'  anny  woman  com'  an'  ask  me 
I  would  tak'  her  den  for  be  my  wife ! 

Wat?    O!  no,  I'm  stronga  now  an'  better — 
Eh?    I  am  su'prise'  you  cannot  see; 

Only  w'en  I'm  seeck  I  theenk  for  marry, 
So  eet  ees  not  healthy  thing  for  me. 


McARONI    BALLADS  95 


THE  ACE  TO  HIS  QUEEN 

MY  biplane,  taking 
The  faint  light  breaking 
Through  pink  clouds,  foamy 

Where  dawn  comes  creeping, 
Swings  'round  through  Heaven, 
Times  seven-times-seven — 
A  heaven  duller 
Of  warmth   and   color 
Than  that  below  me 

Where  thou  art  sleeping! 

A  sky-hung  warden, 
Above  thy  garden, 

In  circles  swinging 

Times  out  of  number, 
I  await  the  hour 
Of  dawn's  full  flower, 
When,  sinking  nearer 
That  Heaven  so  dearer, 

My  motor's  singing 
Shall  break  thy  slumber. 


96  McARONI   BALLADS 

My  motor's  humming 
Shall  tell  my  coming, 

Ere  thou  canst  even 
My  form  discover; 
Oh,  then,  my  lady ! 
Be  up  and  ready, 
And,  while  Time  lingers, 
With  kiss  on  fingers, 

Lean  out  from  Heaven 
And  pay  thy  lover ! 


McARONI    BALLADS  97 


THE  CAGED  BIRD 

GIACOMO  SARPATTI,  lasta  spreeng, 
Catcha  seengin'  bird  upon  a  bush; 
Freckles  on  da  breast  an'  browna  wing — 
How  you  call  een  Anglaice  langwadge? 

"Thrush?" 

Een  Italia  "  tordo  "  ees  da  word; 
Eet  ees  verra  pretta  seengin5  bird. 

Wai,  he  maka  fma  cage  for  eet, 

An'  eet's  een  hees  yard  all  summer  long; 
Early  evra  morn  eet  seenga  sweet, 

Sweeta,  too,  da  evenings  weeth  eets  song. 
"  Ah !  "  he  say,  "  so  long  my  bird  ees  seeng, 
Alia  time  for  me  eet  ees  da  spreeng." 

"  Wen  da  weenter  com',"  say  Giacomo, 
"  Een  my  warma  keetchen  I  no  care; 

I  weell  nevva  mind  da  frost  an*  snow, 
For  my  bird  weell  maka  summer  dere. 

Pretta  soon  I  gona  tak'  heem  een; 

Jus'  so  soon  da  colda  nights  baygeen." 


98  McARONI    BALLADS 

But  he  wait,  dees  Giacomo,  too  long! 

Out  dere  een  da  yard  hees  bird  could  see 
Manny  theengs  dat  mak'  heem  stop  hees 
song; 

He  could  see  all  othra  birds  dat's  free 
Flyin*  down  da  sky  eento  da  Sout', 
An*  dere  was  no  music  een  hees  mout'. 

Een  da  yard  I  see  da  cage  to-day, 
But  dere  ees  no  bird  een  eet  no  more ! 

"Wat  ees  dees?"  I  ask  heem,  an'  he  say: 
"  O !  I  jus1  forgot  to  shut  da  door." 

Wen  I  laugh,  he  growl  an'  tal  me:  "  Hal! 

I  know  justa  how  eet  feel  mysar." 


McARONI    BALLADS  99 


CIDER 

E^S'  night  Frost  wuz  purt'  nigh  here; 
Seen  his  tracks  at  break  o*  day. 
Ole  Mount  Poke  stands  out  real  clear, 

Though  he's  eighteen  mile  away. 
Flapjacks  tasted  comforting 

Coffee  never  drunk  so  good; 
Sure  signs  winter's  settin'  in 

Round  about  this  neighborhood. 
Yet  this  wagon  I'm  a-drivin' 

Down  the  holler,  up  the  hill, 
Holds  a  load  o*  things  thet's  hivin* 

Most  o'  summer's  honey  still; 

Thar'll  be  two,  three  bar'ls  to  fill— 
Mebbe  more — when  we're  arrivin* 

At  the  Cider  Mill. 

Apples  fine,  but  nothin'  like 

Old  times.    Seems  ter  me  somehow 
When  I  was  a  little  tike 

They  wuz  plentif'ler  than  now; 
Sweeter,  too,  they  wuz,  them  days, 

An'  the  new  juice  of  'em  went 


ioo  McARONI    BALLADS 

Slicker  down  my  throat.     Leastways 
Thar  wuz  somethin'  different, 

Winesap,  Spy,  Bellflower  an'  Pippin, 
All  as  one  then  to  my  tongue; 

Long  as  thar  wuz  honey  drippin* 
From  press-spout  or  bar'l  bung 
I  jes'  clung  an'  sucked  an'  clung, 

Sipped  an'  sipped  an'  kept  on  sippin' — 
Thet's  when  I  wuz  young. 

Sweets  like  thet  hez  lost  their  power. 

Nowadays  I  often  say : 
"  Sweet  hain't  sweet  until  it's  sour," 

Cider  strikes  me  jest  that  way. 
Leastways  here's  a  truth  I  hold 

From  my  own  exper'encin' : 
'Taint  new  cider,  but  the  old, 

Gits  ye  feelin'  young  agin. 
Take  yer  fill  o'  fresh  juice,  sonny; 

I  don't  want  a  single  drop. 
But  when  it  gits  actin'  "  funny," 

Sizzin'-like  an'  bubblin'  up, 

Like  bees  buzzin'  in  the  cup, 
Leavin'  stingers  in  the  honey, 

Lemme  have  a  sup! 


McARONI    BALI,.AI>3 


WISHES 

SOMTIMES,  w'en  beezaness  ees  bad 
An'  I  am  sad, 

I  weesh  I  was  not  born  at  all, 
Or  dat  I  could  be  w'at-you-call 
A  "  domb  theeng,"  like  a  stona  wall; 
Dat  cannot  speak  or  see  or  hear, 
Or  hope  or  fear! 

I  s'pose,  my  frand,  you  nevva  gat 

So  bad  as  dat; 

I  s'pose,  baycause  you  do  so  wal, 
You  always  weesh  to  be  yoursal'. 
You  nevva  say,  like  me,  "  O !  hal ! 

I  am  no  good;  I  weesh  I  might 

Drop  outa  sight!" 

Mos'  times  I  weesh  dat  I  could  be 

Som'  kind  of  tree; 
For  I  could  be  alive  an*  steell 
Not  have  to  work  for  evra  meal, 
An*  weenter  cold  I  would  not  feel — 

An'  I  could  mak'  more  pleasure,  too, 

Dan  now  I  do. 


M  c  A  R  0  NI    BALLADS 


All  summer,  cool  would  be  da  shade 

My  branches  made 

With  greena  leaves  dat  I  would  wear, 
An'  birds  would  com'  an'  seenga  dere. 
Den  een  da  fall,  w'en  I  was  bare, 

I  would  not  have  to  do  a  theeng 

But  sleep  teell  spreeng! 


McARONI    BALLADS  103 


IN  PRAISE  OF  SCRAPPLE 

OUT  upon  your  gibes  ironic! 
You  who've  never  known  the  tonic 
Toothsomeness  of  savory  scrapple 
Dare  to  judge  it?     Well,  I  never! 
When  no  morsel  of  it  ever 

Greased  your  graceless  Adam's  apple. 

When  the  northwest  wind  is  blowing, 

Sharp  enough  for  frost  or  snowing, 

And  the  days  of  muggy  weather 

Have  departed  altogether, 

All  our  husbandmen  are  getting 

Butcher  knives  laid  out  for  whetting, 

And  some  morning  with  the  dawn 

Comes  the  porcine  slaughter  on. 

Let's  not  morbidly  be  dealing 

With  the  scuffling  and  the  squealing, 

But,  the  gruesome  parts  deleting, 

Get  us  to  the  joys  of  eating. 

Well,  then,  when  hog-killing's  through 

This  is  what  the  housewives  do: 


104  McARONI    BALLADS 

Clean  a  pig's  head,  nicely,  neatly, 

Boil  till  meat  leaves  bones  completely. 

When  it's  cold  remove  all  greases, 

Chop  meat  into  little  pieces; 

Put  the  liquor  and  the  meat 

Back  again  upon  the  heat, 

Slowly  stirring  cornmeal  in 

Till  it  is  no  longer  thin. 

Pepper,  salt  and  sage  they  bring 

For  its  proper  seasoning. 

When  the  mess  is  thick  and  hot 

It  is  lifted  from  the  pot, 

Poured  then  into  pans  to  mold 

And  so  left  until  it's  cold. 

So  ends  Chapter  I. 

The  sequel 
Is  a  breakfast  without  equal! 

Come !  it  is  a  nippy  morning, 
Frosty  lace,  the  panes  adorning, 
Takes  the  sun  from  many  angles 
And  the  windows  glow  with  spangles. 
From  the  kitchen  range  are  rising 
Odors  richly  appetizing; 


McARONI    BALLADS  105 

Paradise  is  in  the  skillet, 

For  the  scrapple  slices  fill  it, 

And  each  flour-encrusted  piece 

Smiling  in  its  fragrant  grease 

Takes  a  coat  of  golden  tan 

From  the  ardor  of  the  pan. 

Crisp  and  brown  the  outer  crust,  oh ! 

Food  to  rouse  the  gourmand's  gusto 

From  your  platter  gives  you  greeting; 

Truly  this  is  royal  eating! 

Out  upon  your  gibes  ironic ! 

You  who've  never  known  the  tonic 

Toothsomeness  of  savory  scrapple, 
Dare  to  judge  it?    Well,  I  never! 
May  no  morsel  of  it  ever 

Grease  your  graceless  Adam's  apple! 


106  McARONI    BALLADS 


PLEASURES  OF  THE  POOR 

OH,  what  I  like's  a  touring  car, 
A  comfy,  headache-curing  car, 
A  wholly  reassuring  car 

That  takes  you  from  your  door, 
And  whirls  you  through  proximity 
To  absolute  sublimity, 
With  perfect  equanimity, 

A  hundred  miles  or  more; 
That  whisks  you  through  the  scenery, 
Of  wooded  slope  and  greenery, 
And  drops  you  at  a  beanery 

Where  millionaires  are  fed; 
Then  out  into  the  night  again 
To  storm  a  fairy  height  again, 
And  revel  in  the  flight  again, 

Before  it's  home  to  bed. 
Oh,  then,  in  kneeling  attitude, 
With  many  a  pious  platitude 
I  raise  a  prayer  of  gratitude 

For  friends  more  rich  than  I. 


McARONI    BALLADS  107 

Such  motoring!  I'll  say  for  it, 
I'm  ready  any  day  for  it, 
Since  I  don't  have  to  pay  for  it — 
The  best  of  reasons  why ! 


io8  McARONI    BALLADS 


THE  FAT  MAN  YEARNS 

THOUGH  I've  had  my  share  of  the  pleas 
ure  that  men  in  a  lifetime  taste, 
And  my  chin  is  of  double  measure,  and  I'm 

rather  thick  in   the   waist, 
There's  a  joy  Time  cannot  smother — though 

the  years  have  laid  it  away — 
It  was  lugging  the  basket  for  mother,  on  the 
Saturday  market  day. 

On  a  frosty  morn  in  December,  with  the  holi 
days  near  at  hand, 

'Oh,  the  market  that  I  remember  was  a  regular 
fairyland ! 

When  the  boisterous  winds  were  icy  and  eager 
to  nip  the  nose, 

All  the  odors  about  were  spicy,  and  each  cab 
bage  became  a  rose; 

And  the  things  that  are  often  dull,  or  but  com 
monplace  things  to  see, 

Were  a  perfect  riot  of  color  and  light  and 
beauty  to  me, 


Me  A  ROM    BALLADS  109 

As  we  stopped  at  one  or  another  of  the  stalls 

that  were  on  our  way, 
When  I  carried  the  basket  for  mother  on  the 

Saturday  market  day. 

Oh!  I  didn't  growl  at  the  number  or  weight 

of  the  things  I  bore. 
For  I  knew  that  Fd  soon  encumber  my  ribs 

with  their  share — or  more; 
That  the  sausage  and  sirloin  and  scrapple  and 

other  rich  morsels  would  throng 
On  the  heels  of  the  juicy  red  apple  I  munched 

as  I  shuffled  along. 
But  if  now  I  could  once  be  repeating  that 

long-vanished  journey  of  joy — 
Though  Fm  fond,  just  as  fond  of  good  eating 

as  ever  I  was  as  a  boy — 
I  would  let  my  old  appetite  smother,  and  take 

but  a  kiss  for  my  pay. 
Could  I  carry  the  basket  for  mother  on  next 

Saturday  market  day! 


no  McARONI    BALLADS 


DA  LEETLA  DOCTOR 

W'EN  I  am  beeg,"  says  he— 
Dat  leetla  keed  of  mine — 
"  Gran'  doctor  I  weell  be, 

An'  Oh,  so  smart  an'  fine 
You  weell  be  proud  of  me; 
Wen  I  am  beeg,"  says  he. 

"  You  beeg  enough,"  she  say — 
Hees  madre,  dat's  my  wife — 

"  I  like  you  deesa  way ; 
Eef  only  all  your  life 

Like  deesa  you  could  stay! 

You  beeg  enough,"  she  say. 

"  You  are  too  beeg,"  I  cry. 

"  You  crowd  your  madre's  heart, 
Eef  you  grow  more,  oh  my ! 

You  bust  eet  all  apart! 
No  room  dere  now  have  I; 
You  are  too  beeg,"  I  cry. 


McARONI    BALLADS  in 

"Wen  I  am  beeg,"  says  he, 

"  I  feex  all  dat  for  you. 
Eef  hearts  can  bust,  you  see 

Dey  can  be  menda,  too! 
Gran'  doctor  I  weell  be 
Wen  I  am  beeg,"  says  he. 


ii2  McARONI    BALLADS 


A  SONG  FOR  NOVEMBER 

AGrRAY  old  hag,  in  cloak  and  hood 
Of  somber  gray, 
Gleaning  gray  twigs  and  bits  of  wood 

At  close  of  day, 

November  creeps  across  the  land 
Yet  magic  gifts  are  in  her  hand — 
Her  fagots  cold  need  but  a  spark 

And  hearth-stone  room, 
And  warmth  of  June  from  out  the  dark 
Will  burst  to  bloom. 

Of  foster-mothers  tenderest, 

Close-harboring 
Earth's  sleeping  seeds  within  her  breast 

Until  the  spring, 

Let  gray  November  clasp  the  land. 
Yet  from  her  lean  but  kindly  hand 

Let  us,  dear  heart,  her  fagots  take, 
And  on  this  stone 

A  warm  and  cheery  June-time  make; 
Our  own,  our  own ! 


McARONI    BALLADS  113 


TO  A  SANDWICHMAN 

IN  languid,  after-luncheon  mood, 
To-day  I  watched  you  in  the  throng. 
My  mild,  appraising  eye  pursued 
The  crude  incitements  unto  food 
Upon  the  signs  you  bore  along. 

"Big   Oyster   Stews"    and    "Six    Large 
Raw" 

And  "  Pepper-hash  and  Crackers  Free  " 
Upon  your  swaying  signs  I  saw, 
And  marveled  that  your  drooping  jaw 

So  lean  and  lantern-like  should  be. 

Ah !  brother,  when  the  evening  bell 
Rings  curfew  to  this  toil  of  thine, 
I  hope  one  stew,  warm,  rich  of  smell 
And  grateful  to  the  tongue,  may  dwell 
Betwixt  thy  wishbone  and  thy  spine ! 


ii4  McARONI    BALLADS 


FIRESIDE  DREAMS 

AJ  old  colonial  fire-place! 
What  memories  cling  around  it! 
Such  quaint  carved  frame,  such  hallowed 

stone, 

I'd  often  dreamed  that  I  might  own, 
And  now  at  last  I've  found  it. 

It  graced  a  sporting  squire's  hall — 
Those  pegs  once  held  his  rifle — 
Long  years  before  the  sordid  clown, 
Who  bought  the  mansion,  tore  it  down 
And  sold  this  for  a  trifle. 

He  was,  in  truth,  a  sordid  wretch 

This  clod  who  took  my  money. 
"  I  wonder  why  folks  get  so  daft 
About  such  junk,"  he  said  and  laughed, 
As  though  he  thought  it  funny. 

Poor  wretch,  indeed !    What  soul  had  he 
To  conjure  up  the  spirit 


McARONI    BALLADS  115 

Of  kindly  cheer  and  olden  grace 
That  once  endowed  that  fire-place, 
And  still  is  hovering  near  it? 

But  I,  who've  starved  in  rented  flats, 

How  could  I  help  but  love  it? 
And  so  I've  stored  my  prize  away 
Against  the  coming  of  that  day 
When  I'll  be  master  of  it. 

And  you,  my  friends,  you,  too,  shall  bless 

The  happy  day  I  found  it, 
For  I'll  invite  you  all  to  call 
As  soon  as  I've  the  wherewithal 

To  build  a  house  around  it 


n6  McARONI    BALLADS 


SINCE  PATSY  SHAY'S  A  SCOUT 

1USETER  run  wit'  Patsy  Shay 
Wen  him  an'  I  wuz  small, 
But  since  he's  got  religion,  say! 

He's  proud  as  hellenall! 
Dey  wuz  a  time  w'en  him  an'  I 

Wuz  twins  in  dese  here  scenes, 
An'  useter  rob,  an'  cuss,"  an'  lie, 

Like  reg'lar  human  bein's. 
W'en  him  an'  I  wuz  nine  or  so 

We  owned  de  world,  we  did, 
But  den  somebody  had  ter  go 

An*  spoil  de  bloomin'  kid; 
An'  now  he  never  chums  wit'  me 

Or  shows  up  hereabout — 
Oh,  things  ain't  like  dey  useter  be 

Since  Patsy  Shay's  a  scout. 

Four  years  ago,  w'en  we  wuz  eight, 

We  up  an'  run  away, 
An'  watched  a  chanct  ter  hop  a  freight 

Ter  see  de  U.  S.  A. 


McARONI    BALLADS  117 

We  made  it  up  ter  go  out  West — 

Where  bears  an'  cowboys  grew 
An'  Indians  an'  all  the  rest — 

An'  we'd  of  done  it,  too; 
But  some  one  must  of  told  a  cop 

About  our  little  game, 
Because  he  come  an'  made  us  stop — 

Gee!  Wuzn' 'at  a  shame? 
We  said  w'en  we  wuz  twelve  we  meant 

Ter  go,  wit'out  a  doubt, 
But  now  de  time  has  came  an*  went — 

An'  Patsy  Shay's  a  scout! 

I  seen  dis  Patsy  yisterd'y, 

A-marchin'  past  our  court. 
An'  hully  chee!  he  seemed  ter  be 

A  reg'lar  Christian  sport. 
A  soldier  hat  wuz  on  'is  bean, 

An'  big  shoes  on  'is  feet 
An'  all  de  fixin's  in  between 

Wuz  fancy  an'  complete; 
A  kid's-size  suit  o'  army  clo'es, 

A  watch  stuck  on  'is  wrist, 
A  hankercher  ter  blow  'is  nose — 

Oh,  nothin'  wuzn'  missed. 


ii8  McARONI   BALLADS 

He  useter  be  my  chum,  but,  say, 
De  worl's  toined  inside  out, 

An'  now  he  seems  so  fur  away 
Since  Patsy  Shay's  a  scout. 

I  wouldn'  mind  if  some  one  come 

An'  made  me  Christian,  too. 
Dis  life  I  lead  is  purty  bum; 

I'm  game  fur  som'pin  new. 
I  hear  dese  guys  is  out  fur  coin, 

An'  if  dey  raise  enough 
I  guess  a  lot  o'  kids  will  join 

Dat  onct  wuz  mighty  tough. 
I  ain't  a-sayin*  I'll  be  one; 

I'm  twelve  years  old,  yer  see, 
An'  I  ain't  on'y  jist  begun 

To  feel  me  oats,  b'chee! 
But  if  dey  git  some  coin  to  spend 

An'  want  ter  fit  me  out, 
I'll  try  ter  be  deir  little  friend — 

Since  Patsy  Shay's  a  scout. 


McARONI    BALLADS  119 


FORTISSIMO 

MY  frand,  you  have  been  kind 
To  me  een  manny  way. 
You  tal  me  I  weell  find 

Da  gooda  wife  som'  day; 
"  Som*  girl  weell  com'  along," 

You  say,  "  an'  smile  on  you — 
Dat's  her!  "    But  som'theeng's  wrong; 
Eet  ain'ta  comin'  true. 

I  am  afraid  I  need 

Som'  othra  kind  of  sign 
Dat  I  can  easy  read 

An'  know  da  girl  ees  mine. 
Eef  only  dere  would  be 

Som'  seemple  kind  of  treeck 
For  know  she's  mash  weeth  me 

I  sure  would  grab  her  queeck! 

Eh?    Sure,  you  bat  my  life ! 

Dere's  som'  have  smiled;  but  w'en 
I  ask:  "You  be  my  wife?" 

Dey  start  to  smile  agen. 


120  McARONI    BALLADS 

You  theenk  dat  pleasa  me 
An'  mak'  me  glad  an'  proud? 

Ah !  no,  my  frand ;  you  see, 
Dey  smile  too  blama  loud! 


McARONI    BALLADS  121 


APPLYING  THE  SERMON 

THE  pastor'd  a  sermon  was  splendid 
this  mornin'," 

Said  Nora  O'Hare, 

"  But  there's   some  in   the  parish  that  must 
have  had  warnin' 

An'  worshiped  elsewhere; 
But  wherever  they  were,  if  their  ears  wasn't 
burnhV, 

Troth,  then,  it  is  quare !  " 

"  '  There  are  women,'  sez  he,  '  an'  they're  here 
in  this  parish, 

AnJ  plentiful,  too, 

Wid  their  noses  so  high  an'   their  manners 
so  airish, 

But  virtues  so  few 

'Tis  a  wonder  they  can't  see  how  much  they 
resemble 

The  proud  Pharisee. 

Ye  would  think  they'd  look  into  their  own 
souls  an'  tremble 

Such  sinners  to  be. 


122  McARONI    BALLADS 

Not  at  all!     They  believe  themselves  better 
than  others, 

An'  give  themselves  airs 

Till  the  pride  o'  them   strangles  all  virtues, 
an'  smothers 

The  good  o'  their  prayers/ 


"  That's  the  way  he  wint  at  them,  an',  faith, 
it  was  splendid — 

But  wasted,  I  fear, 

Wid  the  most  o'  the  women  for  whom  'twas 
intended, 

Not  there  for  to  hear. 

An'  thinks  I  to  meself,  walkin'  home,  what 
a  pity 

That  Mary  Ann  Hayes 

An*  Cordelia  McCann  should  be  out  o'  the 
city 

This  day  of  all  days. 


"  But,  indeed,  'twas  a  glorious  sermon  this 
mornin'," 

Said  Nora  O'Hare, 


McARONI    BALLADS  123 

"  Though  I'm  sorry  that  some  o'  the  parish 
had  warnin' 

An*  worshiped  elsewhere; 
But  wherever  they  were,  if  their  ears  wasn't 
burnin', 

Troth,  then,  it  is  quare !  " 


124  McARONI    BALLADS 


ALONG  THE  WISSAHICKON 

THE  red  and  gold  and  silver  haze 
Of  early  Indian  summer  days 
Along  the  Wissahickon! 
Dan  Cupid,  could  there  ever  be 
A  likelier  place  on  land  or  sea 
Wherein  to  plan  your  Arcady 

And  let  your  love  plots  thicken? 
There  earliest  stirred  the  feet  of  spring, 
There  summer  dreamed  on  drowsy  wing! 
And  autumn's  glories  longest  cling 
Along  the  Wissahickon. 

On  winter  nights  ghost-music  plays 
(The  bells  of  long-forgotten  sleighs) 

Along  the  Wissahickon, 
And  many  a  silver-headed  wight 
Who  drove  that  pleasant  road  by  night 
Sighs  now  for  his  old  appetite 

For  waffles  hot  and  chicken. 
And  grandmas  now,  who  then  were  belles! 


McARONI    BALLADS  125 

How  many  a  placid  bosom  swells 
At  thought  of  love's  old  charms  and  spells 
Along  the  Wissahickon. 

You,  Gloriana,  you  who  know 
The  word,  low  spoken  long  ago, 

Along  the  Wissahickon, 
The  word  that  was  the  golden  key 
To  ope  the  gates  of  Arcady 
For  one  man.     Come!  and  walk  with  me 

Where  sweetest  memories  quicken, 
That  once  again  the  charms  that  brood 
Through  all  the  sylvan  solitude 
May  bless  the  wooer  and  the  wooed — 

Along  the  Wissahickon. 


126  McARONI    BALLADS 


DA  POSTA-CARD  FROM  NAPOLI 

SO,  you  gon'  sail  for  Italy? 
Ah,  fine! — Wat  can  you  do  for  me? 
Oh,  notheeng,  please;  I  don'ta  care — 
I  weesh  you  joy  while  you  are  dere, 
An'  I'll  be  glad  for  see  you  w'en 
Da  sheep  ees  breeng  you  home  agen — 
Eh?    No!     Oh,  please  don't  sand  to  me 
No  peecture-card  from  Napoli! 

Oh,  yes,  wan  time  da  letter-man 
Breeng  soocha  card  to  deesa  stan'; 
Eet  was  from  gentleman  like  you 
Dat  wanted  to  be  kinda,  too. 
Eet  showed  da  town,  da  bay — but,  oh, 
I  deed  not  need;  so  wal  I  know! 
Ah!  no,  please  don'ta  sand  to  me 
No  peecture-card  from  Napoli. 

Oh,  wal,  Signor,  you  are  so  kind, 

So  good  to  me,  I  would  no  mind 

Eef  you  would  send  me  wan  from  Rome. 

Eh?    Rome?    No,  dat  ees  not  my  home. 


McARONI    BALLADS  127 

Deed  I  not  joost  esplain  to  you 
I  weell  no  care  w'at  else  you  do 
So  long  you  don'ta  sand  to  me 
No  peecture-card  from  Napoli? 


128  McARONI    BALLADS 

SONG  OF  THE  SCUTTLE 

(After  Eugene  Field) 

OH,  ye  who  are  fond  of  music  (and  some 
of  you  may  recall 
Field's  "  clink  of  the  ice  in  the  pitcher  the  boy 

brings  up  the  hall  "), 
I  challenge  ye  all  to  name  me  a  song  of  a 

rarer  tone 
Than  here  in  my  cozy  kitchen  I  know  for  my 

very  own. 

I  grant  you  your  harps  or  fiddles,  your  sym 
phony  bands  or  jazz, 
Or  the  latest  vocalization  that  Gluck  or  Mc- 

Cormack  has; 
You  may  take  'em  for  me  and  welcome,  for 

nothing  on  earth  compares 
With  the  rattle  of  coal  in  the  scuttle  that  Mom 

drags  up  the  stairs! 

A  helpless  creature  is  Mother.     She  bothers 

me  quite  a  bit 
And  routs  me  out  of  the  comfy  chair  in  the 

kitchen  where  I  sit 


McARONI    BALLADS  129 

To  get  her  the  tallow  candle  from  its  place 

on  the  cellarway  shelf — 
For   Mother   is   thin   and   little   and   couldn't 

reach  it  herself — 
And  then  there's  the  trouble  to  light  it.    But 

when  that  trick  is  done 
And  I  settle  back  by  the  fire  the  reward  of 

my  labor's  won, 
For  up  from  the  depths  of  the  cellar  ascends 

the  sweetest  of  airs — 
'Tis  the  rattle  of  coal  in  the  scuttle  that  Mom 

drags  up  the  stairs. 

The  bucket  in  which  she  gathers  the  nuggets 

that  may  be  found 
Along  the  tracks  of  the  Reading  emits  but  a 

wooden  sound, 
And    her    day-long    comings    and    goings    I 

scarcely  notice  at  all 
For  her  feet  in  wrappings  of  burlap  go  softly 

along  the  hall; 
But   when    in    the    winter    twilight    arises    a 

treble  clear 
It  stirs  me  here  in  my  corner  to  cock  up  a 

drowsy  ear 


130  McARONI    BALLADS 

To  catch  the  delightful  music  so  soothing  to 

all  my  cares — 
The  rattle  of  coal  in  the  scuttle  that  Mom 

drags  up  the  stairs. 

Time   was,   when   the   carbon   nuggets  were 

easy  to  get  and  keep, 
The  song  of  the  brimful  scuttle  had  a  bass 

note  full  and  deep, 
But  then  Mom  handled  a  shovel  instead  of 

a  tablespoon, 
And  now  there's  a  dwindling  treble  in   the 

half-filled  scuttle's  tune. 
Yet  here  by  the  kitchen  fire,  I  dare  you  to 

name  me  a  song 
To  play  on  my  tender  emotions  and  get  to 

me  half  so  strong 
As  the  one  that  finds  me  drowsing,  sprawled 

out  on  the  kitchen  chairs — 
The  rattle  of  coal  in  the  scuttle  that  Mom 

drags  up  the  stairs. 


McARONI    BALLADS  131 


IN  FRANCE 

Sergeant  Mack: 

WE'RE  done  wid  the  thransport.    Thank 
Heaven  we're  here! 
But  wid  all  the  sea-trampin'  we've  lately 

been  havin', 
Sure  the  feet  on  the  end  o'  me  pins  are  still 

queer, 
An*  I  feel  like  a  mule  wid  the  string-halt 

anj  spavin. 
An'  the  scenes  at  the  dock!     Such  a  mur- 

therin'  clatter; 
There  was   ructions   enough   to  be   raisin* 

the  dead! 
I  was  proud  of  our  outfit,  but  what  was  the 

matter 

Wid  Pete  Malatest'?     Was  he  out  of  his 
head? 

Corporal  'Aroni: 
Oh,  Sarf,  eet  was  funny.     You  know  w'en 

we  lanj 

An'  our  fallows  was  movin'  deir  theengs 
on  da  dock, 


132  McARONI    BALLADS 

We  was  watchin'  dat  smart  engineer  capitan 
Dat  was  bossin'  da  gang  weeth  da  tackle 

an'  block. 
Malatest'  he  was  wan  dat  was  peecked  for 

dat  job, 
An'   I  know  he  was   tryin'   for  doin'  hees 

best, 

But  you  see  he  ees  clumsiest  kind  of  a  slob, 
An'   he   alia   time   got   een   da   way   of   da 

rest. 

Den  dat  smart  engineer,  dat's  so  quiet  bay- 
fore, 

He  joosta  start  een  an'  he  swear  lika  hal. 
An'    dees    Pete    Malatest',    w'en    de    capitan 

swore, 
He  looked  een  hees  face  an'  he  lat  out  a 

yal; 
An'  he  put  hees  two  han's  on  da  capitan's 

chest, 
An'  he  smiled  weetha  joy.     Den  I  hearda 

heem  say: 
"  You  are   Meester  Jeem   Newell,   I  worked 

weeth  out  West; 

I  joost  deed  not  know  teell  you  swore  dat 
ole  way; 


McARONI    BALLADS  133 

But  so  soon  as  you  deed  I  was  sure  eet  was 

you, 

For  I  worked  weetha  you  on  da  P.  D.  &  Q !  " 
Dey  was  railaroad  men  in  Wyoming,  you  see! 
An'  da  capitan,  too,  was  so  pleased  as  could  be, 
An'  he  shooka  Pete's  ban';  an'  Pete  looka 

so  please' 
I  thought  he  was  sure  gona  geeve  heem  a 

keess. 
But  he  said :    "  Eet  was  joosta  like  home  w'en 

you  swore — 
Oh,  Meester  Jeem  Newell,  please  do  eet  som' 


134  McARONI    BALLADS 


THE  TREASURE  BOX 


H!     here's    the    box!       And    there's    his 
baby  shoe; 


A 

And  there  his  little  christening  robe  and 

cap! 

I  mind  that  springtime  Sunday  long  ago 
They  brought  him  back  and  laid  him  in 

my  lap. 

He  was  a  stirring  youngster,  and  his  feet 
Outgrew  no  shoes  that  weren't  first  out 
worn. 

I  mind  that  day  he  ran  out  in  the  street, 
And  it  a  bare  twelve  months  since  he  was 
born. 

'Twas   flags   was   in   it   then,    and   fifes    and 

drums; 
A  passing  band  of  lads  that  fought  with 

Spain. 
Flags  always   called  him   so.    *    *    *    How 

plainly  comes 
My  last  sight  of  him  marching  to  the  train ! 


McARONI    BALLADS  135 

And  here's  the  box,  with  all  his  baby  things; 

And  here's  another  treasure  it  must  hold — 
The  last  flag  and  his  own!  The  flag  that 
brings 

His  glory  home!    O  little  star  of  gold! 


i36  McARONI    BALLADS 


DA  VOICE  DA  GERMANS  MEESSED 

GIUSEPPE    SCALABRELLA    ees    re- 
turna  from  da  war, 
An*  soocha  happy  Dagoman  you  nevva  see 

bayfore. 
He   tooka  playnta  hands  weeth   heem  w'en 

first  he  start  away, 
But  he  ees  only  gotta  wan  for  workin'  weeth 

to-day. 
He  walked  upon  a  coupla  legs  bayfore  da  war 

began, 
But   now  he's  gotta   crutcha-steeck   for  tak' 

da  place  of  wan. 
Giuseppe  Scalabrella  ees  so  glad  as  he  can 

be; 
You  oughta  hear  da  happy  songs  dat  he  ees 

seeng  for  me. 

Giuseppe  was  a  laborman  dat  use'  for  deeg 

da  tranch 
Bayfore  he  go  weeth  Oncla  Sam  for  halp  to 

save  da  French; 


McARONI    BALLADS  137 

He  was  wan  fina  laborman  bayfore  he  went 

to  war, 
But  now  he  sure  ees  nevva  gona  deega  tranch 

no  more. 
You  theenk  dat  dees  would  mak'  heem  joost 

so  sad  as  he  could  be — 
But  you  should  hear  da  happy  songs  dat  he 

ees  seeng  for  me. 

He  nevva  chirped  bayfore,  but  now  he  don'ta 

do  a  theeng 
But  sect  aroun'  da  house  an'  seeng,  an'  seeng, 

an'  seeng,  an'  seeng! 
"  I  tal  you,  Tony,  how  eet  ees,"  he  say  to  me 

to-day ; 
"  Da  firsta  battle  I  am  een  dey  shoot  my  hand 

away; 
An'  w'en  I  was  een  hospital  da  time  eet  was 

so  long. 
I  could  no  read,  an'  so  you  see  I  busted  eento 

song. 
I  don'ta  know  da  way  eet  com',  but  eet's  so 

easy — See?  " 
An'  den  you  should  a  hear  da  happy  songs 

he  seeng  for  me! 


138  McARONI    BALLADS 

"  Wen  I  am  wal  agen,"  he  say,  "  dey  said  I 

could  no  fight, 
But  steell  I  went  for  more — an'  dat's  da  time 

I  got  eet  right! 
Dey  shoot  me  een  da  lefta  leg — an  look  da 

way  I  am. 
But  all  da  time  een  hospital  I  seeng  my  songs, 

by  dam! 
An*  evrabody  com*  an'  say :  '  How  wondra- 

ful  eeshe!'" 
An'  den  you  shoulda  hear  da  happy   songs 

he  seeng  for  me. 

"An*  joost  bayfore  dey  sand  me  home,  my 

capitan  he  said: 
*  I  s'pose  you  theenk  da  way  you're  treemmed 

you  might  as  wal  be  dead, 
But  Oncla  Sam  ees  feex  eet  so  he  gona  find 

a  trade 
For  evra  crippled  soldier,  so  you  need  no  be 

afraid ; 
You  no  can  deeg  da  tranch  no  more,  but  steell 

you  should  rayjoice 
Baycause    dose    damma    Germans    deed    no 

shoot  you  een  da  voice ! ' 


McARONI    BALLADS  139 

Da   'Merican   Caruso  now,  you   see,   I   gona 

be!" 
An*  den  you  shoulda  hear  da  happy  songs  he 

seeng  for  me. 


HO  McARONI    BALLADS 


ROSA'S  CURIOSITY 

MY  frand,  you  like  for  buy  a  hat? 
Fine  greena  seelka  wan  I  gat, 
Weeth  redda,  whita  feathah  een. 
So  styleesh  hat  you  nevva  seen ! 
Eh?    No?    Too  bad !  for  eef  you  do, 
I  sal  eet  pretta  cheap  to  you. 
Where  deed  I  gat?    Wai,  eef  you  pleass, 
I  tal  to  you.     Ees  lika  dees: 

My  Rosa — dat's  my  girl,  you  know — 
She  alia  time  ees  tease  me  so 
An*  aska  dees  an'  dat,  for  try 
An*  guess  w'at  prasant  I  am  buy 
For  geeve  to  her  on  Chrees'mas  Day; 
But  alia  time  I  laugh  an'  say: 
"No!  No!  eet  ees  su'prise  for  you, 
An'  eet  ees  gona  pleass  you,  too. 
I  have  eet  bought  an'  put  away 
For  keep  for  you  teell  Chrees'mas  Day." 
She  stamp  da  foot  an'  say :  "  O !  my, 
You  tease  me  so  you  mak'  me  cry. 


Me  A  RON  I    BALLADS  141 

You  are  so  mean  as  you  can  be 

Baycause  you  weell  no  tal  to  me." 

My  frand,  she  coax  so  lika  dat 

At  las'  I  say:  "  Eet  eesa  hat!" 

O !  den,  my  frand,  for  sure  she  cry, 

An'  look  so  sad  an'  say :  "  O !  why 

You  tal  me  w'at  eet  gona  be? 

I  want  eet  be  su'prise  for  me. 

You  just  are  wan  beeg,  seelly  theeng — 

Baysides,  I  theenk  eet  be  a  reeng." 

Ha!  w'at  you  theenka  dat,  my  frand? 

Dese  girls  ees  hard  for  ondrastand. 

So,  queeck  I  say :  "  Eet  ees  no  true ; 

I  justa  maka  joke  weeth  you." 

So  now,  you  see,  I  musta  gat 

A  reeng  eenstead  for  deesa  hat; 

An'  den,  how  mooch  she  coax  an'  tease, 

I  weell  no  tal  her  w'at  eet  ees. 

But  here  ees  steell  da  hat!     O!  pleass, 

My  frand,  eef  eet  should  be  you  meet 

Som'body  walkin'  on  da  street 

Dat  look  for  buy  da  styleesh  hat, 

I  have  da  cheap  wan  he  can  gat. 


H2  McARONI    BALLADS 


IN  PRAISE  OF  ST.  STEPHEN 

HERE'S  the  feast  o'  St.  Stephen, 
This  Christmas  Day's  morrow, 
An'  it's  past  all  believin' 
The  comfort  I  borrow 

At  the  thought  of  him  there 
In  the  cold  mornin'  air, 

An'  meself  steppin'  back  to  a  world  full  o' 
sorrow. 

For  with  all  the  soft  beauty 

O'  Christmas  behind  ye, 
When  it's  back  to  cold  duty 
Triis  day  has  consigned  ye, 

Faith,  there's  need  of  the  aid 
Of  a  saint  unafraid 

To  withstand  the  blue  devils  that's  likely  to 
find  ye. 

Tall  and  bright  is  the  miter 

O'  Stephen,  the  martyr; 
A  knight  and  a  fighter 

By  Christ  the  Lord's  charter. 


McARONI   BALLADS  143 

And  it's  well  if  ye  stand 
Within  touch  of  his  hand 
In  a  world  that  is  given  to  traffic  and  barter. 

Lucky  you,  if  ye're  wearin' 
This  saint's  nomenclature, 
For,  belike,  ye'll  be  sharin' 
His  valorous  nature; 

For  there's  none  of  his  name 
In  the  pages  o'  fame 

That    was    anything    less    than    a    two-fisted 
crayture. 

So  upon  this  gray  mornin', 

In  hope  o'  receivin' 
His  good  help  in  the  scornin', 
O'  groanin'  and  grievin', 

Here's  the  ballad  I  raise 
In  the  merited  praise 

Of   the   worshipful   martyr   and   fighter,    St. 
Stephen! 


144  McARONI    BALLADS 


DA  PUP  EEN  DA  SNOW 

DEED  you  evra  see  Joy 
Gona  wild  weeth   delight, 
Jus*  so  lika  small  boy 
Wen  som'  brighta  new  toy 

Mak's  heem  crazy  excite'? 
You  would  know  w'at  I   mean 
Eef  you  jus*  coulda  seen — 

Not  so  long  time  ago — 
How  my  leetla  fat  pup 

Ees  first  play  een  da  snow. 

O!  I  scream  an5  I  roar 

An*  so  shaka  weeth  laughtra, 
Dat  my  sides  dey  are  sore 

For  mos'  three-four  days  aftra. 
An'  how  mooch  I  would  try, 

I  no  speak  weeth  sooch  skeell 
I  could  put  een  your  eye 

Wat  ees  fresh  een  mine  steell: 
How  dat  leetla  pup  romp 

All  aroun'  da  whole  place, 


McARONI    BALLADS  145 

How  he  bark,  how  he  jomp 

An'  fall  down  on  hees  face; 
How  he  fight,  how  he  bite 

An'  ees  tumble  aroun', 
Teell  hees  cover'  weeth  white 

Lik  a  leetla  fat  clown; 
Wat  su'prise  fill  hees  eyes 

Wen  he  see  da  flakes  sail, 
How  he  bark  at  da  skies, 

How  he  chasa  hees  tail. 

O!  I  weesh  I  could  show 

How  ees  looka,  dat  pup, 
How  he  puff  an'  he  blow 
Wen  hees  leecked  by  da  snow 

An'  ees  gotta  geeve  up. 
An*  I  sposa,  no  doubt, 

You  would  say  I  am  fibbin* 
Wen  I  say  hees  tongue's  out 

Lika  yarda  peenk  ribbon — 
O !  how  mooch  I  would  try, 

I  no  speak  weeth  sooch  skeell 
I  could  put  een  your  eye 

Wat's  so  fresh  een  mine  steell. 


i46  McARONI   BALLADS 

But  I  weesh  you  had  been 
Where  you,  too,  coulda  seen 

Wat  delighta  me  so — 
How  my  leetla  fat  pup 

Ees  first  play  een  da  snow! 


McARONI    BALLADS  147 


TO  AN  AUTHOR 

EST  night  at  last  I  found  a  chance 
To  dip  into  your  new  romance. 
The  night  was  wild  without,  but  fair 
This  valley  of  my  easy  chair; 
As,  with  your  book,  I  settled  there 
Before  the  cheery  grate, 
The  clock  struck  eight. 

I  read  the  opening  chapter  through, 
And  after  that  I  never  knew — 
Nor  cared,  indeed — how  fared  the  night 
Beyond  those  borders  of  delight 
Wherein  my  spirit  winged  its  flight; 
For  other  ears,  not  mine, 
The  clock  struck  nine. 

The  while  your  book  was  in  my  hands 
My  soul  sojourned  in  other  lands, 
But  then,  ah !  then— I  cannot  tell 
Just  what  it  was  that  broke  the  spell. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  book  that  fell — 
I  woke,  and,  sakes  alive! 
The  clock  struck  five. 


148  McARONI    BALLADS 


ONE  OF  US 

HE  comes  again !    His  rough-shod  feet 
Familiar  here,  in  field  and  street, 
Have  led  him  back  to  tread  once  more 
The  paths  he  knew  before  the  war. 
The  tasks  that  he  takes  up  again 
Are  humble  now,  as  they  were  then; 
But,  look  you!  on  his  swarthy  brow 
There  shines  a  new-won  glory  now. 
He  craves  no  favor,  makes  no  plea, 
But  this  his  proper  speech  might  be: 

"  I  speak  not  Anglaice  verra  wal ; 
But  while  I  was  away,  een  Hal, 
I  deed  som'  leetla  theeng  or  two 
Dat  made  me  mooch  more  lika  you. 
Dere  was  a  time  you  call  me  '  Wop/ 
But  now  I  ask  you,  please,  to  stop. 
My  tongue  ees  Wop,  but — God  be  thank' ! — 
My  hands  an'  heart  an'  soul  ees  Yank!  " 


McARONI    BALLADS  149 


TO  A  RICH  MAN 

WHAT  worries  me  and  makes  me  blue 
May  seem  a  little  thing  to  you; 
But  then,  you  see,  you  have  a  lot 
Of  cash  and  bonds,  perhaps  a  yacht — 
Your  bills  are  paid,  but  mine  are  due. 

You  say  you  have  your  troubles,  too; 
A  jaded  heart,  a  jaundiced  view 
Of  life?     Thank  heaven  that  is  not 
What  worries  me ! 

My  heart  trips  light,  my  wife's  beats  true; 

We  pluck  life's  roses,  not  its  rue. 

And  so  when  next  you  ask  me  what 
My  worries  are,  what  cares  I've  got, 

I'll  answer  you  with  courage  new: 
"What?     Worries?     Me?!" 


APR    9 


stamped 


YB  76733 


. 


